


To ease your worry

by chrislink



Series: To You Alone [1]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 13:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 85,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrislink/pseuds/chrislink
Summary: He doesn’t expect to find his flatmate making tea, looking almost ethereal in the dim yellow light of the kitchen at three in the morning, but that’s what happens.A journey into learning to accept help, and find hope.





	1. Chapter 1

Even rarely has trouble falling asleep. The only time when he does is usually a sign that an episode looms on the horizon. So when he spends hours tossing and turning in his bed that night, he leaves his room, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor, anxious and ready to call his parents.

He doesn’t expect to find his flatmate making tea, looking almost ethereal in the dim yellow light of the kitchen at three in the morning, but that’s what happens. Isak has his back turned to him, fiddling with the teapot and tea bags with with precise and quiet movements. 

They’ve only been living together for two weeks now and thus are still finding out about each others habits and quirks. So far, Even’s learned that Isak tends to keep to himself, studies an awful lot, loves science and sleeps in late in the morning, sometimes coming out of his room well past noon. They’ve only talked a bit, both pretty overwhelmed with the start of their respective years at uni. 

Not wanting to startle him, he closes the door behind him with a soft click. He thinks he sees Isak tense slightly and stand up straighter but chalks it up to his overactive brain. He perches himself on one of their high stools next to the kitchen counter and watches the younger man at work.

He’s loved that apartment the instant he set foot inside. It’s on the small side, with a tiny bathroom and no space anywhere to put a proper dining table. But they each have a small bedroom, the living room comes with a very comfortable old couch and there are high stools in the kitchen. 

Even loves those stools. He could probably spend the rest of his life sitting on those. He’s also pretty sure he heard Isak mutter « hipster fuck » when he shared the idea with him.

Isak doesn’t say anything this time. He barely acknowledges him but takes out a second mug which he fills with a now burning hot and delicious smelling tea before sitting across from him. He pushes the mug toward Even who carefully wraps his hands around it. The heat is a comfort he didn’t realize he needed.

Neither of them seem to be willing to break the silence. Even keeps his eyes on his mug, feeling his flatmate staring, curious, assessing, but when he lifts them, Isak only meets his gaze for a nano second before lowering his own.

“Hadn’t pegged you as a tea drinker” he softly jokes.

Isak shrugs self consciously, mirrors him as he puts his hands around his own mug.

“I’m not. Just sometimes.” is the quiet answer he gets.

The thick woollen jumper Isak is wearing is so oversized it makes him look a lot smaller than he really is. Isak is almost as tall as him, long limbs and broad shoulders, but there is something soft about him that makes him look like an overgrown teenager most of the time. Although, Even reasons, the blond curls heavily factor in that impression.

Silence falls again. He wants to speak up, knows there’s a conversation they haven’t had yet but they should. They’ve briefly touched on his condition when they agreed to move in together but Isak hasn’t raised the topic again, probably leaving that for Even to decide. 

From what he’s seen so far, he’s a private person, which makes it hard to know how he feels and what he thinks, and it’s made Even hesitant to broach the subject again. They are, after all, still pretty much strangers.  
They need to have this conversation though, and they might as well have it now, before he chickens out and lets the episode do the talking. A sip from his mug is actually all it takes to calm his nerves a little and give him enough courage to speak up again.

“So. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about”.

Isak must have been lost in his own world of though. He lifts his head in a surprised motion.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So...” Even sighs self consciously. If he can get the first words out, he’ll be fine. He just needs to find those.

Isak beats him to it with a question he barely hears.

“Did I…. Did I do something?” he asks hesitantly.

The surprise leaves him speechless for half a second before he quickly reassures his flatmate that no, he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

“It’s about my bipolar.” he eventually confesses.

He finds it almost funny how it seems that a weight suddenly lifts off Isak’s shoulders and files that information for a later conversation.

“I think… I might be going into an episode soon. And well… I thought you should know” he adds.

Isak’s expression is undecipherable as he slowly nods. 

“Hypomania?”

Even realises Isak has probably researched bipolar after they met, before accepting him as a flatmate. It’s a logical thing to do, and probably not all that surprising for someone who is as into science as he is, but he’s still weirdly touched by the gesture.

“Usually, yeah. I haven’t had an episode in months but…”

He shrugs, trying to keep his tone light, but something lurches in him. There’s no consistent pattern, none that he has figured out really, but he knows that big changes can trigger episodes, and with his luck, he’s long overdue.

“I just… I have a system in place. I can usually spot the signs now, so I’ll just go to my parent’s and stay with them until it’s all over.”

He watches Isak quietly sipping his tea while processing the information.

“I just… wanted you to know. In case you don’t hear from me for a few days.”

“Texts?”

He shakes his head.

“I mean, they don’t bother me. But I usually don’t reply.”  
Usually actually means almost never. When they hypo-mania recedes and the depression settles in, he can barely will himself to open his eyes and breathing becomes an insurmountable effort. Curling up in a nest of blankets in the darkness of his room and waiting for the world to end with his pretty much all he does. 

“Anything I can do?”

This gets a smile out of him, and something in his chest comes loose. He can officially say he got lucky in the flatmate department. This guy who barely knows him just shared the best tea he’s ever had and is now offering to help him during his episodes. He thinks it might be the first step toward a tentative friendship. His hands tighten around the mug.

“No, don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know. I might be tired for a while after, but that’s it, really.”

“Ok” Isak simply says. 

In the quiet that follows, Even allows himself to bask in the relief that surges through him and finishes his tea and can’t suppress a yawn. He hasn’t felt this calm and bone tired in a while. Things are going to be okay, he’s almost certain of it now.

“What kind of tea is this?” 

His question brings a smile to Isak’s face. Half teasing, half genuine.

“Secret recipe from a friend.”

He lets out a small chuckle. There’s a story there, one he hopes Isak will share when they know each other better. In the meantime, he’s going to enjoy the soothing effect. He hops off the stool, a little unsteadily, and gives his mug a quick wash.

Isak’s eyes have left him, and he seems lost in his thoughts again. He looks almost wistful, his tired mind supplies. 

“I’m going to go to bed. Thanks for… you know.” He makes a vague motion with his hand.

Isak is still sipping his tea, which must be growing cold now, but nods at him again, meeting his eyes once more.

“’Night then.”

“Good night, Isak.”

With one last look at his flatmate, Even shuts his door behind him. 

His last conscious thought before darkness engulfs him is that the decision to move in with Isak is probably the best one he’s made in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably focus on making progress on my other fic, but this idea of Even and Isak being roomates and getting to know each other over time hasn't left me in days, so here goes. I will try to write some more, probably switching povs too, but we'll see. Hope you all enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

This week has been pretty awful. Isak has been running on coffee and sandwiches for the past few days and it’s starting to show. More coffee than anything else really, if he’s honest with himself. He’s always had a tendency to lose track of his meals, especially when uni and work get a little bit much, but it’s been getting worse lately. He’s gotten so used to having Eskild nag him about not eating properly that he feels a little bit out of his depth now. 

He absolutely refuses to think how it makes him sound like a child living with his parent for the first time. 

He’s an adult, a mostly responsible one. So eating at least a couple of meals a day should not be an issue. It’s also really bad timing, with his sleep pattern being what it is right now.

He tells himself it’s only temporary. He’s taken a big step and he needs some time to adjust. He’s still finding his footing between classes, his job and living in a new apartment with someone he barely knows. One of those three obviously had to give, which means he forgot to pick up his prescription and hasn’t had the energy to cook or even buy any type of food that doesn’t classify as a snack. He’s lost some weight as a result. His clothes feel looser on his shoulders and he feels stupid for failing to balance all three sides of his life. He can’t even remember the last time he went to the pool.

He’s just finished his sixth cup of coffee and is about to go back to his room to finish a paper he has due on the following week when a loud noise coming from Even’s room startles him. His mug slips from his hand and crashes on the hardwood floor. 

The “fuck” that escapes him is louder than he intends.

His hand is burning so painfully that he barely notices that Even has appeared by his side.

“Shit, Isak, are you ok?”

He finds himself nodding without a word. He avoids his flatmate’s concerned look and bends down to pick up the shards of his now former favourite mug. 

“You should pour cold water over your hands, man. I’ll clean up, don’t worry.”

Even’s voice is gentle but it irks him more than anything else.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” he mutters in a strangled voice.

He starts picking up pieces when Even’s voice makes him pause.

“Isak, man. Just go clean your hands, okay?”

He sighs. Even’s right, of course. He doesn’t know why he’s making such a big deal out of this. His hands are slightly shaking, and he’s as tense as a bowstring on the verge of snapping. Over a stupid fucking mug.

Wordlessly, he goes to the sink. The cold water actually soothes the pain and he can feel his brain clearing a little. He keeps his hands under the water a bit longer and lets his shoulder sag with another sigh. 

Despite having been living in the same apartment for almost three weeks now, they haven’t spent too much time together. They don’t share meals and Isak occupies most of his time studying. So maybe Even doesn’t see him for the stupid fuck that he is just yet. 

Eventually, he turns the water off just as Even starts sweeping to get the small shards off the floor. 

“I can do that, you know.”

Even just raises and eyebrow and pointedly stares at his hands. Well. 

“I don’t mind.”

Isak sighs again, feeling useless. He stands there like an idiot, watching Even work carefully before shaking himself. He grabs a mop and soaks up the rest of the coffee. He’ll just have to hope it doesn’t stain. Odds are, their landlord would not like that. 

As luck would have it, they’re both done at the same time. They stand up, facing each other awkwardly for a few seconds. 

Isak is the one who breaks eye contact first with a muttered “thanks”.

He busies himself by wringing the mop, all too aware of Even moving around the kitchen. He hates being like this. All gauche and embarrassed. Even though Eskild finds it “hilariously adorable”. Or maybe that was the other way around.

“You’re a child in a grown up’s body. That’s why.” his former flatmate told him once.

He supposes he’s not too far off. 

Even, on the other hand, and from what little he’s seen, is open and confident. He seems like the kind of guy constantly surrounded by tons of people, the life of the party, letting others soak up his charisma. He’s got this adulting thing down to a T.

Isak is not jealous though, he’s fine with who he is. He’s mostly accepted himself, flaws and all. He’s still a work in progress but he likes to think that he’s in a good place now. 

“So?”

Even’s voice interrupts his train of thoughts.

“Huh?”

The smile he gets for his intelligent response is teasing, but kind. 

“I lost you there for a sec. I was asking if you were hungry. I made too much food.”

He’s left speechless again. He’s not sure whether he should be scared at the idea that Even may be able to see right through him or happy that someone other than his overbearing former roommate is offering him free food.

“Huh.” He hesitates again. “Thanks but...”

Even seems to understand, sags a little, and Isak hates himself for being unable to accept this small act of kindness. He needs to stop doing that to himself. Eskild would be ashamed of him.

“Ok. I’ll leave it in the fridge if you change your mind. I can’t eat it all and it’s going to waste, so...”

Even gives him another smile, smaller this time, and asks if he can turn the radio on. Turns out Even likes all kind of music and shamelessly hums along whatever latest pop hit Isak hasn’t heard about. He even sways ridiculously to beat as he takes his food out of the fridge to reheat it.

“I had a really shitty week” he blurts out, mentally cursing himself

Even stills and turns to look at him, his eyes soft and understanding. 

“I know. I can tell.”

Oh. Suddenly, the fight goes out of him and he has to hold on to the counter not to fall like a shapeless heap on the floor.

Even puts two plates on their kitchen island. 

“Sit. And eat.”

He obeys without a word as Even pour food into their plates. It’s mashed potatoes with minced meat, some sauce and herbs he can’t identify. It smells heavenly. They eat in silence for a while, the radio has been turned off, and only the kitchen light is on, bathing them in a warm golden glow. Only the sounds of forks scraping the plates can be heard. 

“Food always helps me. When I’m tired or stressed out, or whatever. Nothing better than food.” Even says, grinning at him. He’s got mashed potato on right cheek.

For the first time today, Isak smiles.

“Well, it is really, really good.”

Even’s grin gets impossibly bigger, the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Thanks. That’s my mum’s recipe. She’s an amazing cook.”

The food is sadly gone all too soon. But Even is dead set on sharing dessert with him, and Isak can’t find it in himself to protest. 

“So, he asks with his mouth full of pie, uni kicking your ass?”

He’s definitely a messy eater, but it’s surprisingly not that disgusting.

“Yeah. It really is. And work too. It’s just… shit.”

Eloquent, Isak is not. But Even seems to understand.

“I know the feeling. Sometimes it feels like I don’t have time to be myself anymore, you know. But, I’ve learned to make the time. Perks of therapy.”

And really, he doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

“Tea?” He offers after a while.

“Is it going to put me to sleep again?”

He can’t help the smirk. 

The following morning, Isak is the first one up. He has an early class, and he can already tell it’s going to be a miserable day. Even on the other hand doesn’t have class until 2 in the afternoon and is sleeping soundly. The tea did indeed knock him right out. And if he’s a little jealous of that particular fact, nobody has to know. He’s slept very little again, and the bone-deep weariness has yet to leave him. But maybe, just maybe, living with Even is going to be alright. 

After doing the dishes, he leaves a post-it on the fridge with a simple “Thank you”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was amazed by the reaction to the first part of this story, honestly. The kudos and the comment mean a lot, so thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed that first snapshot, which, believe it or not, I finished writing right after the previous one. I almost posted it right away but figured I'd buy myself some time to get more writing done. I've got ideas for about 20 parts so far and obviously things might change, but I'm pretty happy with this plan. 
> 
> Part 3 is complete already, and it's my favourite so far. Part 4 is almost done as well and part 5 is in early drafting stages. I can't wait to share more of this universe !


	3. Chapter 3

Little by little, colour starts seeping into the world again. Sounds take shape, smell and taste return progressively. He lets out a breath that feels like the first one in an eternity. The drowning has stopped.

It takes him two more days to find the strength to tell his mother he wants to go back to the apartment again. She gives him a look that’s half worried, half understanding, like only she can. His parents have been unsurprisingly supportive, if a little hesitant, of his decision to get a new place and finally move on. However, they’ve been hinting at wanting to meet Isak, which is something he’d rather not think about.

The guy sent him a text a few days ago. _Call me if you need anything_. While it didn’t do much to alleviate the depression at the time, it does bring a smile to his face now. His flatmate is definitely growing on him. He’s pretty sure that behind the distance and aloofness, Isak is just a big, curly-haired marshmallow.

He steps into his parents’ kitchen and shoots him a quick text to warn him he’ll be back at their place later tomorrow. He only gets an _ok_ in response, but that’s fine. Isak is not the most talkative guy.

He’d actually been pretty distant on before the episode happened, come to think of it.

They’ve barely talked at all, save for a brief “hi” in passing when they happen to run into each other at the apartment, which doesn’t happen very often. They’re both pretty busy with their studies and part time jobs, although Even had to cut down on his.

It’s not something he’d planned, but with everything happening, his therapist thought it was a wise decision, and it assuaged his parents’ fears, at the very least. They have a point, obviously. He stands by his choices, he’s happy, proud even, of how they’re turning out.

Yet, it doesn’t make any of it easier. He’s still not quite used to his new apartment’s layout, still not used to having dinner on his own, still not used to not hearing Sonja’s voice when he comes back from uni.

The note his mum left on the kitchen island makes him smile. It reminds him of the thank you note Isak left him a few weeks ago. He doesn’t really know why he kept it. The wobbly drawn smiley face probably has something to do with it.

Even pours himself a generous helping of cereal, which reminds him he’ll probably have to go grocery shopping sooner rather than later. He’s also pretty sure that most of the fruits and vegetable he’s bought have now gone to waste. It’ll have to wait though, he’s not quite ready to face the hassle. Maybe he’ll just ask Isak if he can borrow some food from him. He can live off reheated pre-cooked meals for a couple of days. He hopes. How the guy enjoys eating this, he can’t even begin to understand.

In the meantime, he wolfs down two pieces of toast with strawberry jelly – his favourite – and gulps down a big glass of orange juice. It still feels like he’s making up for the meals his skipped this past week.

A ray of weak autumn sun filters through the window, making the white table top gleam almost blindingly. It’s a beautiful day outside, they haven’t gotten a lot of those lately.

It only takes him a few minutes to wash up and get his coat before he’s out the door. He hasn’t gone out in over ten days and the fresh, crisp air on his face reminds him how’s he missed it. The clear blue sky, the light, cold breeze, the red and gold leaves, slowly leaving the branches, flying around, dancing in small tornadoes on the streets.

He’s still too tired for a long walk, but strolling around the mostly deserted neighbourhood brings him more energy than he’s felt in a while. He even entertains the idea of offering the boys to go on a hike soon, but shuts it down almost immediately. He misses doing that with them, but it’s definitely too early into their renewed friendship to be thinking about this yet.

It’s been years now, but it still feels new again, and so very fragile. They hang out, they talk, they banter. But they’re so careful around each other, afraid of breaking something they’re not sure how to mend. It probably will never be quite the same again, but there’s a hint of something, a speck of hope.

In the meantime, he’ll have to make do with lonely walks around the city. His parents have been talking about going to the south of France next summer, and he might go with them just to let his feet take him somewhere new.

The streets around his parents’ house are quiet. The sounds of the city are but a distant yet familiar buzz. He closes his eyes and lets the sunlight touch his face in a gentle caress. And let another breath out.

*

The following day, it actually takes some convincing for his mother to let him go, after one of her bone crushing hugs he loves so much. She really does give the best hugs, and he likes to think he’s inherited that from her. That’s one of things he enjoys about his relationship with his parents, how tactile they are, never afraid to show their love to one another and to him.

This hug is all he needs to know deep down that everything is alright, that should life get too hard, he can always go back to the safety of his mother’s arms.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside the apartment doesn’t feel half as daunting as he feared. The place is empty, silently welcoming his anticlimactic return. There’s barely any trace of his flatmate having been there at all, save for a pair of threadbare trainers in the entrance. Isak’s a very clean and tidy fltatmate.

He’s barely set his backpack on the floor when he spots his first surprise. There’s a pile of neatly folded clothes on the couch. His clothes. The shirt on top of the pile is one of his favourites. The one under it belongs to him as well, as does the rest. Then it hits him at once. In his hurry to get to his parents, he must have forgotten his laundry downstairs and Isak must have gotten it for him.

Oddly touched by his flatmate’s thoughtfulness, he carefully carries the pile into his room and sets about putting the clothes away and tidying up a bit.

He’s not all that messy, really, but he’s certainly no neat freak. He loves that his room feels lived in. He likes his wall of drawings, his posters, his guitar in the corner – even though he never bothered to properly learn how to play.

With a sigh, he lets himself fall on his unmade bed and wonders if he should call Mickael. It’s the first time he’s entertained the idea of actually reaching out to him so soon after an episode. The gang knows what happened, there was no hiding it from them when he’d had to turn down an invitation at Elias’. He’s not yet sure he’s ready for that, but maybe the idea of doing it is a first step in itself.

He objectively knows that Mickael and the others would be there for him, knows how understanding they are. A little too understanding perhaps. His therapist suggested that it may stem more from his fear of being labelled as “Even the bipolar” instead of just “Even” and he knows that this has more to do with how he sees himself than anything else.

Another long sigh. He needs to get up and have a look at whatever food he’s got left, if he has any. Maybe he can call Isak and ask him he’d mind picking up a couple of things on his way home. Would he actually do it? He’s not sure they’ve reached that level into their relationship. The guy has already helped him with his clothes, and he really doesn’t want to impose. On the other hand, he’s starving. He needs food, not just for nutrition purposes, but simply to make himself feel better.

With what feels like a tremendous amount of effort, he drags himself to the kitchen. He only briefly hesitates before yanking the fridge open.

The sight that greets him leaves him frozen, staring open-mouthed.

His shelves (Isak’s idea), are exactly as he left them. Vegetables and all. He goes to check the cupboards and sure enough, nothing’s missing. Everything's there, looking as new and fresh as if…

But that can’t be right. His brain must be playing tricks on him.

Unless.

There’s no note anywhere. So maybe Isak just got the shelves mixed up, which does sound unlikely. That could be a rational explanation. He doesn’t cook. At least, not that Even knows. Hell, he’s barely ever seen the guy eat.

But that would mean that Isak went grocery shopping for him. He had to have gone yesterday after his text too. And Even doesn’t know how to deal with this amazing act of kindness. He’s had people do things like this for him before, his parents, his friends. But to have someone like Isak, who has no obligation to him whatsoever, go as far as to get him the same exact products he’d lost. His brain doesn’t seem to be able to process it.

He doesn’t know if it’s the episode that left him feeling to raw and bare, but he’s suddenly overcome by a deep gratitude and affection for his younger flatmate.

That evening, he cuts out a bit of the lasagna he’s cooked and leaves it on Isak’s shelf with a small drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, finally ! Despite the fact that Isak is hardly present in it, it's been my favourite to write so far. I enjoy writing introspection and descriptions more than dialogues, so it has made it a bit easier. This chapter barely needed any editing, I was pretty happy with it from the start and I'm proud of the result - although I do understand that the lack of action and interaction may not be everyone's cup of hot drink. 
> 
> I'm not up to Chapter 6, and it's the longest so far. Well, I was writing it yesterday evening (night) and just couldn't stop, so it might probably just be akin to word vomit at this stage. But writing it has been a lot of fun. It might be a close second favourite.  
I'm going to try and keep the tone of this not too angsty (I have A Long Way Home for that), but there will be moments. I've hinted at them and will continue to do so in future chapters.
> 
> Speaking of A Long Way Home, I finally updated the story again. I want to keep going because it's special to me but updates will probably not be as regular as they are for this one. It's a much harder story to write, and probably harder to read too, in a way. It still intend to finish that story, eventually.
> 
> And finally, a little tease: I didn't name any chapter but the first part was originally supposed to be a sort of oneshot titled "To ease your worry". But I've renamed every chapter in my head and here are the first 6: Tea, Dinner, Aftermath, Family, Friends, Halloween. Make of that what you will... :D
> 
> **One final word: a huge, huge thank you to all the people who left kudos, commented, subscribed to, bookmarked and simply read this story. I started it mostly out of boredom but the reaction has blown my mind and it means a lot to me. I hope you guys will continue to enjoy it and share your thoughts.**
> 
> **UPDATE  
Just realised I skipped the first paragraph of the chapter when I uploaded it. All fixed now !**


	4. Chapter 4

Eskild likes to make a grand entrance. The question is whether he genuinely enjoys that, or just loves getting a reaction out of him. If he were a betting man, he’s probably say both.

So of course, as soon as he opens the door, his former flatmate and self-proclaimed guru strides in like a king in his court, shouting :

« Bow down, peasants, for I have arrived. »

And Isak can’t help rolling his eyes. It’s pretty much his default reaction to everything Eskild does or says.

Two can play a game. So instead of greeting him, he goes to hug Linn who steps quietly in just behind. He knows it annoys Eskild to no end, the fact that Linn is the only recipient of his hugs. Isak doesn’t do hugs, as a general rule. He’s probably shit at it anyway. He doesn’t do touching at all, really. But Linn is different. They don’t talk much, both of them wary of words, and they don’t need to. They hug, and it’s enough.

Today is an « I missed you so fucking much » hug on both ends. It lasts until Eskild can’t take it any more and loudly clears his throat. Isak slowly detaches himself from Linn.

« Oh, hi Eskild. »

The older man pretends to be deeply offended for a second.

« Hi Eskild ? That’s all I get. You little gremlin ! How the mighty have fallen ! To think I practically raised you... »

Isak snorts and rolls his eyes again.

« Right. »

Eskild motions spreads his arms.

« Come here, Baby J. Have yourself a guru hug. »

He knows he might as well go for it. There’s no getting around Eskild hell bent on showing his affection. And Isak doesn’t really mind. Much. They’ve both played this scenario hundreds of times. And he always ends up being hugged. So he bites the bullet and steps into the awaiting arms. Said arms wind up tight around his shoulders.

« God, I missed you, Isak. »

Eskild’s voice comes out muffled and almost shaky, and Isak can tell he means it. He tries not too dwell on how much he actually needed to hear that and settles on patting Eskild’s back awkwardly.

« I missed you too, guru. »

He knows Eskild needs to hear it too, because he places a lot of importances in words. From the corner of his eyes, he catches Linn smiling at him. He slowly untangles himself from the older man and takes a clear look at them.

They look really good, healthy. Well, Eskild always does, drawing from an unknown and seemingly endless source of energy and optimism. He’s not too worried about him.

But he’s happy to see how good Linn looks. There’s colour on her pale cheeks, her hair shines in the afternoon light, tied into a loose ponytail. She looks soft in her deep green sweater. He can’t help smiling at her. Therapy’s been doing her good, obviously.

« You guys want some tea ? »

Had he had long hair, Eskild’s eyebrows would definitely have disappeared in it. As it is, they rise to uncommon heights on his forehead.

« Wow. Look at you, all polite and domestic. I raised you well, young padawan. »

« I think you’re getting your references mixed up. » says Isak with a shrug.

They follow him to the kitchen, and Eskild practically jumps up on one of their stools.

« I really love this place, the photos you sent me don’t do it justice. »

Isak nods. It is a nice apartment. The large windows are facing south which means they get a lot of natural light.

« Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Sana’s tea good for you ? »

« Which one ? »

He smiles and takes the mint leaves out. He figures he’s not going to try and put them to sleep.

« Is that her secret tea ? » comes Eskild’s enthusiastic reaction.

« Nah. That’s just traditional Moroccan mint tea. It’s really good though. I’m the master of tea now. »

Truth is, while Sana was kind enough to share a secret tea recipe with him years ago, she also did threaten him with bodily harm, were he inclined to reveal it to anyone. Not that he would. He’s been jealously safeguarding that particular bit of knowledge for months now, and he’s not keen on sharing. No one seems really interested in his « secret sleeping drought » as they’ve dubbed it anyway. Even’s the only one who’s tried it so far and Isak is proud, if a little jealous, that it at least works on someone.

« That yours? »

Eskild motions to the beautifully engrave copper teapot.

« Yeah. Gift from Sana. »

While he gets water boiling, conversation flows easily between them. Eskild does most of the talking, while Linn just nods her head and sends him small smiles. When the tea is ready, which takes way too long, according to Eskild, they move to the living round and settle comfortably on the couch. He sits between them, Linn’s arm linked around his, her touch grounding him.

He listens to Eskild’s tales of domestic bliss, something he never expected to hear from the older man. There’s something settled about him now. He wonders if that’s how it looks like, finding something you never knew you were missing, getting some sort of inner peace. Eskild who used to spend way too much time on dating apps, moving from one guy to the next, ready to share his latest sexual adventures, now gushes about the last time he and Ren went shopping for a new table. He rambles about colour patterns in their bedroom, curtains in the living room.

Isak feels guilty about only half paying attention, offering his opinion when asked and nodding approvingly when expected. This has always been a strange, foreign concept to him. Eskild knows he hasn’t much insight to offer to this kind of conversation, but they haven’t seen each other in a while and Isak does understand his need to share. Because that’s what they do, they talk and listen to each other, and Eskild has always been there to listen to him, even when Isak couldn’t get the words out, so terrified the world would crumble around him.

« And Linn. Oh my god, Linn, you need to tell him about Axel. »

Linn suddenly looks bashful, a look Isak has never seen on her before. He briefly wonders if there’s something in the air that makes everyone suddenly look different to what he’s used to. Maybe he just hasn’t paid attention enough to them. He resolves to try and call more often.

« It’s nothing, I told you Eskild. He’s just some guy I met in group therapy. »

He nudges her arm lightly, trying to convey his support.

« You don’t have to tell me anything, Linn. »

He feels her body relax and a grateful smile stretches her lips, one of her hands finds his way into his curls.

« I’ll tell you, when there’s something to tell. »

He nods in understanding, ignoring Eskild huffing « What about me ? »

Enjoying the feel of Linn’s hands in his hair, he listens attentively to her account of her life with Chris and Vilde. He hasn’t talked to either of them in a while, but is satisfied in knowing they treat her well.

Not that she’s fragile or anything, Linn’s a tough cookie, a lot stronger than people give her credit for. And Vilde, for all her bluntness, has softened and matured quite a lot. As weird as it sounds to his own ears, he thinks her relationship with Magnus has made her grow and helped her through whatever was going on with her mother.

Chris on the other hand. Well, he’s never really talked to her at all, save for the occasional greeting in passing. She’s always seemed to be content to stick in the background, and he can’t fault her for that. But he knows she cares for her and that apparently extends to Linn now.

Perhaps he should make an effort to talk to her next time she’s around. It certainly sounds like she’s really helped Linn adjust to her new environment, which is something Isak will be eternally grateful for.

She talks about going back to uni, although she’s not quite sure what she wants to study and explains how afraid she is of being overwhelmed. He refrains from saying how much he can relate to that fear and hates that they live in a world that makes it hard for people like Linn, and to a lesser extent, himself, to find the kind of jobs where they can be themselves and thrive.

“Maybe you don’t have to go all in at first? Like, just one or two classes. And maybe have a look at online courses?” he suggests.

He feels her nodding.

“What about you, Baby J. How are you doing, really?”

Silence falls between them as Isak ponders his answer. Things have been good, mostly. He still has a hard time balancing all aspects of his life while maintaining financial independence, which means he’s still exhausted most of the time. He’s not sleeping as well as he should, but he expected that, and that’s really nothing new. His prescription’s ended, but that’s just as well. He doesn’t want to rely on it any more, and is certainly not willing to jump through all the hoops necessary to renew it. That’s just a minor blip anyway.

He’s coping fine. His classes are challenging in a way they weren’t last year, he’s timidly been rebuilding some kind of relationship with his mother, and living with Even has been alright he supposes. He’s come back a little tired from his episode but seemed happy.

He gives his friends an abridged and reassuring version that has them smile happily.

“Speaking of, where’s your other half?”

This time, he does roll his eyes. Hard. If he knew any better, he’d say Eskild had a crush on Even. He’s only met him for a few seconds once when he helped him move in last month, but he’s been singing his praise ever since. Which means he’s actually just kept on rambling about his good looks. As it is, he’s probably trying to rile him up a little, but he knows better than push it too far. At least, he hopes he does.

“He’s fine. Out with friends I think.”

“When do we get to meet him then?”

Or maybe Eskild really loves Even, and is not even trying to hide it. Isak shrugs, remarks that they’ve already seen him. He’s not sure what more they expect from him. Even’s just his flatmate, and doesn’t seem like an arsehole, and that’s really all that matters. Not to Eskild, apparently.

“Is he nice to you?” asks Linn.

He nods in reply. They do get along, they mostly keep out of each other’s way, but Even’s a friendly guy.

“I mean, it’s not like I see him all that much anyway. I’ve got uni and work,” he elaborates. “And, he has those too. So.”

He really hopes that brings this particular topic to a close. Although, knowing Eskild, it probably won’t. All he’s done is bought himself some time at best. And unfortunately, fate decides to intervene in the form of a key turning in the lock of the entrance. Eskild suddenly sits up so straight that he looks like a giant meerkat. A few seconds later, Even steps in, all crazy hair and bright eyed, a surprised look on his face.

“Oh, hi, I forgot you had people over.”

On the first few days of living together, they agreed to warn each other before inviting people over. Isak had actually been the one to initiate that rule, and Even had simply gone along with him.

Linn lazily waves a hello at him while Eskild does stand up, shoving Isak’s legs, and shakes his hand.

“You guys are Isak’s former flatmates, right? Linn and Eskild?”

“Oh, have you mentioned us to Even, Baby J? Only good things I hope.” Eskild gushes.

“Only the worst.” Isak deadpans.

Even chuckles and sits across them in their sole armchair.

“Lot of work to be done with this one.” say Eskild, dismally, ruffling his hair.

Isak grumbles and tries to shrink away from the unwelcome hand, almost crushing Linn as a result.

“Dude.”

“Don’t “dude” me, young man. I didn’t raise you to speak this way to your elders.” Eskild admonishes, an air of exaggerated severity on his face.

From the corner of his eye, Isak can see Even watching the exchange with a smile on his face. He can picture the gears turning in his head.

“You guys want to stay for dinner?” he asks at the same time Isak declares: “They’re leaving anyway.”

Eskild looks hilariously offended, and Linn lets out a small giggle. Even raises an eyebrow. Isak knows when he’s lost a battle. He rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second longest chapter I've written for this fic so far, and it's taken a lot of work. I almost had Noora live with Linn, but decided to keep Vilde instead. While Noora might have been a better fit, I enjoy the idea of Vilde showing a more caring side to Linn.
> 
> I also wanted Even to witness Isak interacting with others (although we don't get his impression yet) and I wanted to delve a bit more into Isak's relationship with his former flatmates. In this universe, as you can guess, Isak lived with them for a few years, so they've grown a lot closer in that time, and I was really interested in showing Isak's and Linn's close relationship. 
> 
> One other thing I do enjoy is dropping hints about Isak's past and touching on the difficulties he's having adjusting to a new life. I don't want to make this story too angsty but I can't help it. And who knows, it might be an opportunity for Even to care for him at some point... :D
> 
> On the writing side of things, there probably won't be a new chapter of The long way home this week, as I've not made any progress lately. On the other hand, chapter 5 of To ease your worry will be up next Sunday as usually, after much needed heavy editing.
> 
> **Again, a huge thanks to everyone who's been reading and enjoy the story. Your support means everything and it really helps keeping me focused on writing this.**


	5. Chapter 5

Even has only met Isak outside of their apartment a couple of times, and that was before they moved in together. Despite both being students at University of Oslo, they’ve never run into each other there. Living together and knowing Sana are the only things that connect them.

They get along fine, he’d even go so far as to say his flatmate’s been slowly warming up a little to him since he found him sprawled out on the couch with his friends that evening. He’d looked kind of adorable. Although to be fair, the ice cap is probably melting faster than him. Maybe that’s just global warming.

Dinner with Linn, Eskild and Isak has been an experience. It’s Eskild being genuinely curious about him and his life while trying to embarrass Isak but praising him at the same time. It’s loud laughter, dry retorts, quiet smiles, and a general sense of happiness.

Even doesn’t recall laughing so much in the presence of people he’s just met. And he also can’t remember the last time he’s seen people loving each other as much as those three. He almost felt like an intruder but Eskild made sure he didn’t by including him in their conversation.

There’s something about them. Even’s only spent a couple of hours with them but he’s certain they consider themselves more family than friends. Eskild being the loud, over protective mother hen, Linn the blunt and slightly odd sister and Isak…

Isak is hard to figure out. Though he obviously basks in the presence of his former flatmates, he remained mostly quiet, unless it’s to snark at Eskild. He hasn’t learned a lot about him in the couple of hours the dinner actually lasted. He now knows that he’s from a catholic family, that he’s moved in with Eskild, Linn and another girl when he was sixteen and that, apparently high school has been « shit ». But that’s about it. Whatever happened, Even has filed that as another Isak mystery he’s yet to solve.

He can’t help but feel disappointed that conversations between him and his flatmate are still sparse and stilted at best. Non-existent at worse. They do chat briefly sometimes, even occasionally do small favours to each other, but that’s it. They don’t hang out, both enjoying their separate lives from each other.

Truth be told, it’s not all Isak’s fault. Even doesn’t spend a lot of time at the apartment. He’s ready to admit that it still feels odd, living with someone he doesn’t have a connection to. He misses that, a lot more than he thought he would. Sonja would probably call him out for being too sensitive.

She’d probably be right too. He loves being around people. Not necessarily many of them, but he hates feeling lonely. He misses someone with whom to share stories about his day, the latest film he saw, the latest drawing he did. And Isak, quite clearly, does not do that.

So Even’s been busy with university and school. He’s been hanging out with the guys more and more too lately, despite them being busy as well.

And.

He might have gone on a date or two.

He’s been trying not to overthink it too much. It does make him excited though, the prospect of finally moving on.

All this to say, he has no idea what Isak gets up to. From what he can tell, he spends his time between university and work. Their lives don’t intertwine any more than they used to before last September. There’s him, and there’s Isak, doing Isak things like reading the hell out of some poor unsuspecting science book. Whenever he’s at their place, he’s locked up in his room, studying until late at night. He clearly loves his nerdy science studies.

The guy in question is now in sight. Sprawled on one of the couches – has he ever heard about sitting straight? – in a corner of the cafeteria, wearing his usual grey hoodie, surrounded by two of his friends Even thinks he’s seen before. They seem to be in the middle of a very animated conversation. One of them is, at least ; a blond guy gesturing wildly at the other two. The brown haired one is simply shaking his head while Isak is definitely serving some strong eye rolling. He does that a lot. Maybe someone should tell him that he’ll end up stuck like this at this rate. They finally notice him as he walks up to them. Isak must have said something about him as they don’t hesitate before introducing themselves as Magnus – _Isak’s best friend_ – and Jonas – _Isak’s actual best friend_. Magnus shakes his hand with much enthusiasm and Even can’t help the grin on his face at Isak’s eye roll.

Isak doesn’t say anything but folds his long legs to make some space for hum, and puts a familiar set of keys on the coffee table.

“Thank you so much, man. I felt really stupid when I realised I left them at home.”

“It’s fine,” says Isak with a careless shrug. His hair is spilling out from under a red snapback.

Magnus nods with a wide grin.

“Yeah. Happens to the best of us.”

“You mean to you, literally every single day” adds Jonas, his thick eyebrows raised in judgment.

Magnus, seemingly unperturbed, just shrugs.

“That’s because I know you’ll be here for me, honey!” he replies, making kissy faces.

Isak turns to Even and explains to him that his two best friends are studying to become kindergarten teachers and now live together, which, apparently, is a big deal.

“Magnus.” just says Isak by way of an explanation.

Even can actually picture it. Magnus looks like a very eager, grown up puppy while Jonas is the picture of cool and collected. He wonders what the story behind these three guys’ friendship is.

Just likes this, conversation between them picks up again, as if he hadn’t just interrupted it. Turns out they’re debating what makes a Halloween costume a good one.

Magnus is all for gross and scary, getting people to jump and yell in fright. Jonas mutters something about Halloween being a capitalist tradition before admitting he rather enjoys a good zombie make up. Isak just shrugs and says he hates costumes. Even can’t help but laugh a little at that. For some reason, it sounds like an Isak thing to say.

“You’re the kind of guy who’d put a white sheet over their head and just flatly say “boo” to people, aren’t you?”

He knows he’s right on the money when it makes his flatmate squirm uncomfortably. It also sends Magnus and Jonas into a fit of laughter.

“Dude! Exclaims Magnus. That’s what he did last year! Fuck man, that was hilarious.”

The three of them laugh loudly at this and Isak just rolls his eyes at them, again.

“Halloween’s a celtic tradition anyway, assholes.” he grumbles.

Magnus pretends to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Great comeback, Issy.”

He turns to Even and pretends to whisper.

“Isak’s the grumpiest ghost ever.”

“Ugh. You guys are the worst. I miss Mahdi.”

“Oh, by the way man, I meant to tell you, he sent me a text. He can’t make it.” say Jonas suddenly.

Isak is clearly disappointed by the news.

“Shit.”

“Oh man, we never see him again!” whines Magnus. “It’s like he doesn’t have time for us now.”

Jonas informs him that Mahdi is their fourth musketeer, so to speak. Or used to be, since he joined the military right after high school.

“Totally blindsided us, man.” contributes Magnus.

He’d apparently never said a word about his intentions to any of his friends. There had been talk of him studying something to do with maths, or maybe biology. He’d been a great student, according to Isak. So the move had come as a complete surprise.

Despite not knowing him, Even feels a kinship to him. He understands how it feels to defy expectations, and not in a good way. At least those guys don’t seem to judge him, simply dismayed they don’t get to see him as often as they used to.

The three friends fall temporarily silent, mentally reminiscing and missing their missing friend.

“Oh, Even should totally come, man.” exclaims Magnus.

“Huh?”

“To the party? On Thursday?”

Isak turns to him, clearly ill at ease. He clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes barely meeting him, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

“Huh. Yeah. You should. Totally. I mean. If you want. You don’t have to.”

Even can’t help but feel a bit peeved at Isak’s obvious reluctance to have him there. He doesn’t understand it either. They’re flatmates, inviting him sounds like the basic courtesy. But if he doesn’t want him there, he’s definitely not going to push the issue. He does have better things to do anyway. It’s not like he doesn’t have anything better to do than hang out with kids he barely knows who’ll probably just spend the evening drinking or getting stoned. He likes to think he’s outgrown that. But Isak’s attitude irks in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He regrets his acerbic tone immediately upon seeing Isak recoil, as if slapped. Wide eyes stare at him for a fraction of a second before dropping to the ground.

Great. Now he feels guilty, even though he knows he’s done nothing wrong.

“I mean, he adds more softly, I’ve already got plans with my friends. Sana’s brother, you know.”

Isak nods, relaxing slightly but his expression remains resolutely neutral. Even feels like he’s fucked something up but can’t pinpoint what, exactly. Isn’t he allowed to be disappointed that his flatmate doesn’t want to invite him to a party ? He sighs internally. He keeps forgetting that they’re not friends, he’s not sure where to draw the line, or even if a line should be drawn.

He turns back to the two others just in times to catch their stare flickering between Isak and him. He wonders what they see. The atmosphere has definitely shifted. They try to get the conversation going again, but their weak attempts fall flat. And Even knows when he’s overstayed his welcome.

“Anyway. I’m, huh, going home.”

“’Kay.”

Isak has turned away from him and is definitely avoiding his gaze now. Well, fuck.

“I’ll see you later then?”

“Sure.”

He thanks him again before standing up awkwardly. He feels almost too tall, towering over them.

“Nice meeting you guys.” he says to Jonas and Magnus.

“See you soon, man” is Magnus’ excited reply.

Jonas just smiles at him but he thinks it almost looks reassuring. Even tries to return the smile but it probably comes out more like a grimace. He squeezes his keys tightly and leaves the three friends to their party planning.

The tell-tale familiar squeeze in his heart reminds him of how much he misses the sense of camaraderie he just witnessed. He wonders if he and the guys will ever go back to that. More than that, he just wishes he had someone to turn to like he did when he had Sonja.

It only hits him when he gets home. The apartment, dark, empty. Silent. He felt it during dinner with Eskild. He felt it just a few minutes ago. He feels it every time he steps in.

Loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for the delay. I ended up spending the weekend in Paris, with no access to my laptop. On the plus side, it gave me time to edit this chapter, which has been a pain. It's been the hardest chapter to write so far, and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it, but I honestly can't stand reading it again.  
On the other hand, I kind of like adding some angst on Even's side. Things have been going way too smoothly for those guys, and I don't like too easy haha.  
Fear not though, they'll be here next Sunday for the big Halloween chapter and some Isak fun.  
As for story planning, I've roadmapped roughly 30 chapters (which means, I've given a working title to 30 possible ideas for a chapter), but I might have to add a couple of new ones between chapter 7 and chapter 8.  
Finally, no other chapter for The long way homeagain this week, I haven't had time to work on it at all. At least, I haven't typed anything. 
> 
> **As always, I'm so very grateful to everyone who has read, liked, left a comment, bookmarked the story. I'm still amazed that people are reading my words and actually enjoying them. Your support means a lot to me.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of bathtubs and terror.

Isak is not drunk. And he’s definitely not stoned. He’s too old for that now. And wise, obviously. He’s just... slightly intoxicated. On both accounts. In his defence, this place has a bathtub. A fucking bathtub. White porcelain, silver _thingies_ and white curtains with fucking _dolphins_. How crazy is that ? It feels like he’s back in high school. On the good days of high school, when it was him and the guys getting drunk and high in bathtubs. Fuck he misses Mahdi.

He should skype him. Would Mahdi even mind ? Do people in the army skype ? Is that a thing ? Or maybe just to their girlfriend or wives. Isak is no one’s wife or girlfriend. He’s no one’s someone. Definitely does not want to be. He’s just Isak’s Isak. That’s something already.

Fuck. So maybe the room is spinning a little. Just a tiny, tiny little bit. The deep bass beat of a song coming from somewhere in the house is reverberating in his head. And not in a pleasant way. His whole body is thrumming in rhythm. It’s the costume’s fault, probably. That effing costume. Which makes it Jonas’ fault. Everything is Jonas’ fault in some way or another. Where’s the fucker by the way ? He thinks he’s seen him disappear with Eva, but is not even sure Eva’s around. He doesn’t remember. When did he last see her, anyway?

Does he miss Eva? He’s not too sure about that one either. It’s been years now, but their relationship has never fully mended. She’s not the type to hold a grudge, but something is broken between them and the thought of what he lost and can never get back is enough to make his throat constrict. And yeah, that’s probably the alcohol talking. It tends to make him all emotional, especially when he reminisces about high school. That’s the last thing he should be doing. He knows better.

Okay, so he’ll just stay in the bathtub a little while longer. He hasn’t even had that much to drink. They had rum though, and Isak likes rum. Especially the mango one. He should make some for himself and Even. Or maybe not Even, he’s being a dickhead.

Not really though. He’s pretty sure that Even could never be a dickhead if even tried. The guy is mostly made of smiles and kindness and shit. And it makes Isak feel inadequate half the time. But still. He’s been weird lately. The few times Isak has seen him that is. Not really smiling, barely speaking to him. He knows when he’s being avoided, and that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s not sure why though, and that bothers him a whole lot more than it should.

Did he do something ? He’s been racking his head trying to find what his latest screw up is but is coming up blank.

He makes sure the apartment is clean and tidy, he keeps quiet and out of Even’s way, he pays his rent on time, no matter how difficult it is at times, and tries to be as friendly as he can, which, admittedly, is not a lot for him. Not everyone wakes up in the morning with stars twinkling in their eyes and rainbows sprouting out of their arses. Or is that just unicorns? So yeah, Isak’s a fucking insecure miserable grump half the time – he’s being generous with himself there – but he’s making an_ effort_.

He’s never lived with someone that wasn’t Eskild or a parent and he doesn’t want to fuck that up on first try. He feels like a baby bird leaving the nest for the first time, realising he’s actually not quite sure how to fly. Crashing and burning is not an option. Even though he’s the master of crash and burn. The fucking master.

Maybe he could leave him a note. Just a few easy words. _I’m sorry_. Even would probably forgive him, he’s nice like that. Probably. Well, that’s decided. He’s going to do just that, as soon as he gets home.

Problem is, the bathtub doesn’t look like it’s going to let him go anytime soon. It looks quite deep now, and Isak feels tiny. At least, the white porcelain is nice and cool against his skin. Now, how the fuck is he going to get out of this one?

*

Even has just had an amazing night, thank you very much. He’s just spent the entire evening _and_ afternoon at Mikael and Mutta’s watching classic horror movies with the gang. _Nosferatu_ had been a definite highlight. Say whatever you want, you can’t beat a good classic, and Murnau was a genius.

They haven’t done that in years, and it feels like a huge step for all of them. They used to do that quite a lot, back in high school. Sometimes choosing a director or a theme and watching as many films as they could, often at his parents’ house. They’d spend hours analysing, dissecting every scene in great details, arguing about possible interpretations. Challenging each other’s views but ultimately enjoying the good company.

And eating way too much junk food.

*

Someone who is not Jonas or Magnus barges in and pulls him out of his thoughts. The girl from earlier. A pretty, short haired brunette whose name has been lost in the meanders of his brain long ago. She looks too scarily familiar for his rampant paranoia to handle. He’s already fended her off a couple of times. Or was that the boy with the skull make-up?

The attention would have been a great boost to his insecure teenage self a few years ago. Now it’s just plain embarrassing. And extremely uncomfortable.

The girl eyes him with a frown, and eyes the bottle in his hands.

Oh. He’d forgotten he’d taken that with him.

“I’m just holding it for a friend.”

His slurred words make the ridiculously flimsy lie even more pathetic to his own ears. Whatever. The girl purses her lips.

“I need to pee.”

He rolls his eyes. Does she expect him to do anything about that? That does kind of sound like her problem. He’s got a bathtub to deal with already. How do people ever climb out of those things?

“Whatever.”

With a roll of eyes, he clumsily pulls the shower curtain halfway through. If she needs help, he’s sure she can find someone else. He doesn’t want to have to look at a girl pee. Gross. Although, he’s pretty sure Magnus would disagree when Vilde is concerned. Despite having been with her for years now, he still treats the girl like deity. Good for them, he guesses. They’re probably sucking tongues in a corner somewhere or being otherwise disgusting. And why is he even thinking about that, he has no idea.

He should be trying to get out of this damned bathtub, but all the pitching and swaying is making it difficult to focus and his legs are being lazy fucks. The damned thing will _not_ stop moving. Seriously. Is he at sea?

*

They’d ordered takeaway and gorged themselves with so much food that he doesn’t think he’ll be eating for the rest of the week. And they talked. Talked and laughed in a way that make his heart swell with hope and joy.

Mikael and him may be headed toward a stage where he feels he’ll be confident to have a serious conversation about what happened between them. And if they can get to that point, say the words that need to be said, there might be a chance that everything can go back to the way it was before.

*

He hears the distant sound of the bathroom door opening again just as he’s considering taking another sip of whatever it is he’s holding. Is he getting further and further away from the door?

“Hey!”

Apparently, she’s still here, and not finished. Fuck, girls take forever, don’t they?

“Sorry, sorry, I’m looking for my friend.” comes the familiar voice of his saviour and best friend.

A second later, the shower curtain is pulled open and Jonas’ unmasked face appears like a sun coming out from behind clouds.

“Isak!”

“Hey Jonas. I’m trapped in the bathtub.”

He should probably tell Jonas that his face might get stuck if he keep grinning like a loon.

“I know buddy, come on. I’ll help you out.”

He feels strong arms grabbing his and pulling him out of the treacherous swaying bathtub. Jonas pries the bottle out of his unresisting fingers and makes it disappear in one smooth motion. Man, his friend is really fucking good.

“How many have you had, Issy?”

“Like, two, I think?”

It comes out more like a question, not the most convincing he supposes. But he can only definitely remember having two drinks, so it’s technically not a lie. Also, Jonas didn’t specify how many of what. So.

Not that it matters anyway, he probably knows already.

“You should get home, man. Are you going to be sick?”

Isak shakes his head. Jonas’s right though, he needs to get home.

So they leave the party. Manoeuvering down the stairs is a challenge. Sailing almost blindly through tumultuous waves of movies bodies in half-lit rooms, music thundering in his ears, the smell of alcohol assaulting his senses, is an adventure.

He’s happy to be outside again, feeling the cool air on his face, the bass a distant echo, ebbing from the shores of his brain, walking home with his best friend.

*

He hasn’t felt that happy and hopeful in a long time. The exhaustion that takes over his body comes so fast it almost gives him whiplash, but he welcomes it. He lets himself fall heavily on his bed and falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

Only to be brutally awakened a few minutes later. The sound of something falling.

A muffled cry echoes through the apartment and his half-awake mind freezes. There’s someone in the apartment. Grasping blindly for his mobile phone, he tries to silently pad across his room. The battery is dead, obviously.

*

Truth is, he misses him. He’s aware of how stupid that sounds, considering they see each other regularly. But now Isak lives with Even who’s really just the friend of a friend, and barely that actually, and Jonas lives with Magnus.

Sometimes, Isak is afraid he’s being replaced as Jonas’ best friend and that hurts in a way he tries not to think about but can’t really help. And he’s just ruined Jonas’ evening with Eva, although he’s still not entirely convinced she was actually there in the first place. At the very least, he’s cut Jonas’ time at the party, he knows how hard Jonas works and how much he needed to unwind, that’s the reason he agreed to come with in the first place. But he’s fucked that up too and that’s…

“Hey!”

He blinks stupidly.

“What?”

“Don’t do that man. That face.”

What face? He’s not doing any face. He’s wearing a mask. A stupid fucking mask. He’d actually forgotten all about it. He was going to remove it but his fingers aren’t working properly.

“The sad puppy face. I can’t see it, but I know you’re doing it. That’s the face you do when you’ve had to much to drink and you get stuck in your own head.”

“I don’t.”

Jonas huffs a laugh. The sound brings pleasant memories.

“You totally do man. You can’t hold your liquor.”

“What? I’m the master of...”

He pauses. Oh.

“Jonas? I’m not feeling so good now.”

His best friend barely has the time to stand back before he throws up right there on the pavement.

He retches a couple of times, feeling his throat muscles contract and his chest dry heaving. His mouth tastes like dead hyena.

Jonas’s hand runs soothing circles between his shoulder blades when he’s done. Then he hands him a small water bottle with a small, sad sigh.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself, Isak.”

“Sorry.”

He sheepishly accepts the bottle and almost empties it in one gulp. He smiles unconvincingly at his friend who just sighs.

“Come on.”

They walk in companionable silence. The streets of Oslo are quiet and deserted. The rustle of the wind gently lifts a few leaves that waltz lazily under the glow of the lampposts. The moon crescent hides timidly behind slowly moving clouds.

*

He does not have a weapon. Think, Even. The guitar, maybe? If he wants to scare the intruder off with his playing, maybe. He reaches for a pen at random, he’s going to stab the guy. With the element of surprise on his side, he has a shot, doesn’t he?

Silently pulling the door open, he hears the person fumbling on the other side. His heart is beating so loud against his chest he fears the whole neighbourhood might hear it.

The living room is bathed in a dark blue obscurity, a very faint light filtering through the kitchen windows drawing the contours of a human shape, back turned to him.

Eyes getting used to the darkness around him, he sees the shape bending down. Now’s his chance. He takes a couple of steps and lifts a shaky arm, ready to strike.

Then the intruder turns around.

*

The nausea has receded by now, and Isak feels more stupid than drunk. He can’t believe how much he let himself drink. Except, he sort of does. He’d been having a good time, he really did. Chatted to people, even tried dancing a bit. He does some pretty neat head bobbing. He’d had fun scaring a couple of guys with his stupid mask. Okay, maybe more than a couple. But he could hardly be blamed for hiding behind doors and jumping at unsuspecting party goers. The mask demanded it. It’d been fun, for about eight minutes.

Then he’d lost Jonas and Magnus a couple of hours after arriving at the party. Magnus left early with Vilde and Jonas got talking to a girl who wasn’t Eva. Eva who was, as a matter of fact, definitely not there. And Isak had just decided to stay on the couch, eating crisps and drinking more and more as glasses were passed in front of him. Strangers had come and gone, and he’d been hit on by a guy with long dark hair and an ugly skull painted on his face who had been way too insistent for his comfort. Then he’d spotted the girl who’d looked like Emma, and that had been too much. He’d smoked the end of a joint that had been going around before escaping to the bathroom.

He sighs.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Dude. Stop that. You’re not...”

“But I am. I know better. Sometimes I act like I’m still in high school, even though it’s been years, and...”

Jonas stops walking for a few seconds and turns to him. Despite the dark, he can clearly see the decisive glint in his eyes.

“Isak. Don’t do this to yourself. You’re doing great. Amazing. You’re a brilliant guy who’s going to do amazing things, you’re working so hard, and you’re independent. You’ve come so far. After everything… You’ve got this, man. I’m fucking proud of you, you know?”

And fuck, Isak is going to cry. His throat is constricting, his chest is doing that weird thing it does when he gets all emotional, and his eyes are definitely prickling with tears. He’s not taking the mask off now.

He manages to get out a squeaky ‘thank you’ that has Jonas smile reassuringly at him.

“No worries man. And no more of this self deprecating bullshit, okay? Or I’ll sic Eskild on you. I really fucking will.”

And that, right there, is why Isak loves his best friend who always seems to know what words will make feel better.

*

Even cannot help the piercing shriek that comes out of his mouth as he’s faced with the most terrifying nightmare he’s ever had. A faint ray of light draws the picture of a blank, inexpressive face, with huge dark dead eyes, endless pit that seem ready to suck out his life. The worst part? The face is shouting, a dark hole of a mouth set into a soundless scream.

The pencil falls from his limp fingers, and he just knows he’s going to die at the hands of a psychopath in his own apartment. He’s seen so many bad slasher films, he should have known better.

Suddenly, he can’t see. His hand instinctively go to protect his own face. And then. The room is flooded with light.

“Even?”

He blinks. Isak is now standing before him, a mask in his hand. Well, shit.

“Oh. Hey man.”

He swallows.

Isak looks a bit pale and not all that sober, but is fixing him with a look where worry is slowly making room for a teasing smirk. And he already knows what’s coming.

“Never pictured you as a screamer.” comes the teasing voice of his flatmate.

And then Isak barks out a loud, genuine, laugh. He’s never heard him laugh before, his tired brain helpfully remarks.

“Huh. Sorry, I thought you were...”

He doesn’t dare finish his sentence. But Isak picks his pencil off the floor.

“Were you seriously going to attack me with that?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course not, I was...”

They look at each other in silent for a couple of seconds before Isak lets out another laugh.

“Oh man. Thank you so, so much for this. That was the best.”

He suddenly get pulled in the briefest hug in the long history of hugs. The smell of alcohol, weed, and something he can't quite define, something earthier, more pleasant, hit his nose. Before he fully realises what just happened, Isak has stepped away and is closing his bedroom door, still cackling.

Although his heartbeat has yet to calm down and the feeling of utter humiliation has not faded away – for some reason he’s sure Isak is never going to let him live that down – he finds himself grinning like an idiot.

He leaves a glass of water and an aspirin by Isak’s door. He then does a quick drawing which he adds for good measure. The feeling of his flatmate’s arms around him takes a while to fade away in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 10k words, wow ! (that's an accomplishment for me haha) Here it is, the big Halloween chapter.
> 
> It's been pretty much complete for almost three weeks now, and I've been dying to post it earlier. I had a lot of fun writing this one, especially writing drunk Isak. It's probably one of my favourite chapters so far (along with chap 3 and 7). The idea of including both Isak's and Even's pov came pretty early on (I saw this chapter as a "Holiday Special" of sorts) although it was originally separated in two distinct halves (Isak's then Even's). In the end, I found that spreading Even's pov throughout the chapter allowed me to build up some kind of (fake) horror movie anticipation.
> 
> Again, there is some angst on Isak's part, which is in large part due to his lack of confidence in himself. The reasons for that will become clearer in a future chapter. On the other hand, I made a point to inject more humour into this one, to balance things out and I think it makes for a pretty light and fun chapter (with a very hopeful ending...).
> 
> Next chapter will be Even's pov (since this one was mostly Isak's) and I think you might enjoy it. It's going to be another long one (still not complete at 2500 words so far). I'm now plotting a new chapter 8 since it was originally going to be centered around Christmas time and it's way too early for that.
> 
> **As always, thank you for your continued support. The fact that people take the time to leave very kind comments and kudos still amazes me. I hope you guys will enjoy what's in store for the guys ! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a rainy Sunday morning.

The rain hasn’t let up in three days. What started as a light drizzle quickly turned into a proper shower. Now it’s just light rain again, but it won’t stop. It’s the kind that gets everywhere. No matter how short a walk he goes on outside, no matter what clothes he wears, he ends up soaked to the skin.

The whole city is coated in a shiny layer that twinkles blindingly bright at the barest hint of sunlight. People are in a constant hurry to get inside, crowds now turned into colourful fields of glistening umbrellas. Halloween decorations have been taken down and there are already talks of Christmas shopping. Days are getting shorter and shorter still.

Thing is, he kind of enjoys this time of year. He enjoys lazy Sundays, on the couch, watching a movie or reading a book, listening to the quiet splatter of raindrops on the windows. He feels no guilt at all this morning for lazing in bed, fiddling on his phone, listening to slow, gentle folk songs. He does eventually gets up and leave the confines of his room, comfortable sweatpants and large t-shirt on.

The sight that greets him in the living room is an unusual one. His flatmate is there, sprawled out on their big, dark brown couch, his usual oversized green jumper reaching mid-thigh, a huge book resting open on pale bare legs. His head rests on what he assumes is his pillow, his fingers moving slowly across the touch screen of his phone.

“Good morning” he greets him.

Isak raises a surprised gaze to meet his.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Working hard?” Even asks, gesturing towards the phone that seems to take up Isak’s attention.

The younger man shrugs sheepishly.

“Needed to clear my mind for a sec.”

He nods in understanding, then goes to the kitchen to pour himself some cereal. Raindrops are tracing myriads of tiny rivers on the windows. The street outside is empty, shining in the weak November sun. He goes back to the couch, bowl in in hand, and sits on the opposite side, facing his flatmate whose focus is back on his phone.

The open book has the word physics in its title and that’s explanation enough as to why Isak needs a break.

“Are you playing a game?”

Isak looks up once more, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. His hair is even messier than usual. A strand briefly catches the light with a golden glint. Rain is still tapping lightly on the windows.

“Nah. I just found an article online about the X17 particle.”

Isak looks expectantly at him, like it’s supposed to mean something. Which it doesn’t. Even is not a science guy. At all. He loves movies, literature, art. He’s good at those, he enjoys telling stories and hearing, seeing or learning about them. Science on the other hand, not so much. He’s never had any interest in it and he was so bad at it in high school it would have been hilarious, if it hadn’t been for the constant stern remarks from his teachers. He remembers the long hours in his physics class, spending most of his time trying to catch up and decipher whatever was written on the white board. He remembers never-ending lines of symbols and words he couldn’t even begin to understand, tons of homework he barely even bothered to do. So yeah, he’s not overly fond of science in general. Isak doesn’t know that, though, if his reaction is anything to go by.

He’s surprised when his usually quiet flatmate takes this as a silent question.

“Well, you know the four fundamental forces of nature, right. Gravity, electromagnetism, strong nuclear force and weak nuclear force. Thing is, they don’t account for everything. There are… things in this universe that should happen, but do.

Even chokes on a bit of cereal and coughs loudly at that, as Isak looks decidedly confused, and perhaps slightly concerned.

“Sorry, he finally manages to articulate, wrong pipe.”

Isak nods, probably deciding to ignore his rude interruption. He shows him his mobile screen that indeed does display a seemingly unending article full of words he’s never even seen.

“So, people have long suspected there might be a fifth force. It’s all got to do with dark matter.

“I think I’ve heard of that!”

Well, very vaguely. Maybe once. A while ago. Truth is, he kind of wants to keep Isak talking. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard him say so much in so little time.

“Yeah. Some believe it accounts for 85% of the universe’s mass. It’s kind of a big deal.”

He pauses, probably looking for a way to dumb down his explanation enough for Even to understand.

“Well, you know photons, right? Some scientists in Hungary were looking for dark photons. They… hum… carry, dark matter. They used a particle accelerator, obviously. They observed the decay of beryllium-8. And...”

And Even is not sure Isak is still speaking Norwegian, or English, or any language he’s ever heard at this point.

“Something happened, that shouldn’t have.” he finishes lamely.

“Oh?”

“Basically. They’re saying it might not be a dark photo but actually a new type of Bozon. Which would be proof that there is a fifth force.”

He looks like he’s building to his conclusion, eyes wide, hands moving a little, but Even still has no clue what they’re talking about.

“And they just published a new paper, saying that they observed another evidence of the existence of this new boson, but this time when they observed the decay of another isotope. And they’re calling this boson X17, because of its mass. That’s pretty neat!”

He’s officially lost. And maybe a little endeared. He must look as dazed as he feels though when he notices Isak’s enthusiasm fade and turn into an awkward cough.

“Sorry. It’s just some stupid article. It’s not even... I’m being a complete nerd.”

“No! He exclaims. It’s not…. You’re not… You’re...”

Kind of adorable, if he’s honest with himself.

“… really smart.” is what he settles on.

Isak snorts disbelievingly.

“Right.”

He’s pretty sure he can detect the hint of a blush on his pale cheeks. Isak clears his throat again.

“Anyway. Reading about that helped me clear my head a little.”

He can understand the need for that. Although he’s not sure he understand how reading a science article helps him clear his head from, well, science.

Silence stretches between them as he swallows another mouthful of cereal while Isak set his phone on the coffee table. He looks like he’s gearing up for another conversation. He observes him fiddling with the hem of his sleeve and can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

Isak is definitely trying to talk to him, but obviously does not know how to start. Finally, the words come out, quiet and hesitant.

“Hum. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to… You know.”

He really doesn’t. Of all things he expected Isak to say, an apology wasn’t one of them. Unless he’s apologising for Halloween night. He’s probably going to get nightmares after that, and he’s honestly a bit scared to walk around with the lights turned off now. He knows Isak didn’t mean it though.

“For what? For almost giving me a heart attack on Halloween?”

“No. I mean, that too. I didn’t realise… I shouldn’t have laughed at you. And hugged you. That was weird I know. I was a little drunk though. And it was kind of funny.”

He cuts himself off, aware that his apology doesn’t sound very sincere at all.

“I meant before Halloween. You seemed kind of upset with me, and Eskild said I should clear the air. So, I’m sorry if I did something.”

His head his low and his eyes won’t meet Even’s. He suddenly looks smaller than he really is, with his hands barely poking out of his jumper and his hair falling on his face. Even swallows tightly and understands he’s fucked up.

He _has_ been avoiding Isak. Ever since that time he met him with Jonas and Magnus, their relationship has been strained. His reaction to Isak not wanting to invite him to that Halloween party – even though he did have other plans already – had been the wrong one. He remembers Isak’s suddenly blank face and dismissive attitude clear as day. And he doesn’t quite know how to face what that means, how he might have hurt his flatmate. He’d hoped against all hopes that the issue would solve itself or just simply go away.

That in itself, is very unusual. Even prides himself in being honest and direct. He doesn’t like to keep things bottled up. But Isak. Isak comes with a different set of rules it seems. He throws him off his game – not that he has any, really.

He hadn’t expected Isak to take the blame for his avoiding the apartment. He realises he needs to fix this before it becomes a bigger issue. The fact that he and Isak don’t seem to be able to become closer has been bothering him for a while now, if he’s honest with himself and that’s due to Isak’s closed-off nature in big part, but he thinks that maybe, he also needs to work more on making his flatmate feel comfortable around him.

He swallows drily.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Isak. It’s me, I just...”

He’s tempted to come up with an excuse. Something vague to avoid talking about how insecure he’d actually felt that day. Admitting the truth suddenly looks too difficult. But Isak is looking at him, green eyes fixed on his own. He thinks there might be relief in there somewhere.

“I didn’t mean to shut you down the other day, with Jonas and Magnus. I just… You didn’t seem to want me at your party, which is fine by the way. I guess I’ve just… I’ve been going through some stuff. I’m really sorry.”

He sighs audibly and takes another mouthful of his now very soggy cereal. It takes a moment for Isak to speak up again. If he were to make a guess, he’d say he’s the kind of guy who’s afraid to voice his own thoughts and who’s learned to pick his words with care.

“I’m sorry if I made it sound like that. I just… I honestly thought that...”

He cuts himself off, a frustrated expression on his face.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go to some lame party with people you barely know. So...”

Oh. That makes sense, of course it does. Isak was just trying to give him an out, and Even took it the wrong way. He has no excuse for that. He’s been feeling stressed, tired, raw. Lonely, too. But still. Isak isn’t to blame for that, at least not directly. Even’s just being stupidly oversensitive, as always.

“Ok. Let’s just… Stop apologising. And pretend last week never happened?”

Isak frowns and sighs. He suddenly looks infinitely sad.

“I don’t know if I can. I mean… I’m not sure I can ever forget your face when you screamed like a little girl. Very high pitched, by the way.”

Well, he clearly doesn’t look sad, at all. There’s a hint of a mischievous smirk stretching his lips.

“Eskild is right. You really are a brat.”

Isak lets out a bark of genuine laughter. His beautiful features relax into a bashful, relieved grin. The room is a little less dark now. Even can’t help but smile in return.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he offers.

That’s a thing flatmates do, he thinks. They watch movies together. They have a TV and they’ve never even used it. At least, he hasn’t, and he’s pretty sure Isak hasn’t either. The movie buff in him balks at the very idea of not using it at all.

“What kind of movie?”

At least, he’s not getting a flat out no.

“I don’t know. What kind of movie do you like?”

Isak obviously hesitates.

“I don’t… I don’t really watch movies.”

“What do you mean? At all?”

“Not really.”

He shrugs almost shyly.

“I tend to fall asleep during them.”

Even wants to gape at him, scold him a little maybe. Those must have been some shitty movies if he fell asleep watching them. That means he’s never seen Romeo + Juliet, Amélie, or even the classics. He refrains from commenting though. He knows he’s making progress, they’re having a nice moment, and he doesn’t want to ruin that by antagonizing his skittish flatmate.

“Can I pick then? And if you don’t like it, we can change?”

That sounds reasonable to his own ears, and Isak must agree with him, as he nods slowly. Okay. Now he needs to find something that’s both good and won’t put Isak to sleep – even though he looks like he needs it. He makes a short trip to his room, hoping to get some inspiration by staring at his DVD collection. Maybe some science fiction? He’s not really in the mood for that though, and maybe Isak could use a break from science actually.

Then, his eyes land on the perfect title. It’s exactly what he needs right now, and he hopes Isak will like it. No one in their right mind can hate this film anyway. He might even have to rethink this whole flatmate thing if Isak falls asleep during this one.

“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? What does that even mean?” is Isak’s reaction.

And okay, they’re not off to a great start, but it’s just a title. Even can work with that.

“It’s… Don’t worry about the title. It’s a really great film, I swear.”

The dubious look he gets in return is not all that promising, but he soldiers through.

“Give it a chance, okay?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

He’s pretty sure he hears Isak mutter a “nerd” but he ignores it and gets the movie started. Isak straightens up and puts his book on the coffee table.

“Is it a love story?”

He wants to laugh, at Isak’s almost sulky expression, he really does.

“I’m not spoiling the film, man!” he retorts.

He gets an eye roll for that, but they both fall quiet as the film opens. He settles more comfortably, ready to share one of his favourite movies ever with someone new. Even little tough guy Isak can’t resist a good love story.

To his credit, Isak does try, he really does. Even can’t help observing him from the corner of his eye. He looks so focused on the screen that his eyes might burn a hole through it. Then he covers a yawn. And another. His eyes droop a little but he refocuses with renewed energy. Even can’t really tell if he enjoys the movie or not, but the light frown on his face suggests there’s some deep thinking going on.

At some point, Even just loses track of him and gets sucked into the story again. When he turns to look at his younger flatmate, he finds him slouched against the armchair, fast asleep. His face completely relaxed, mouth slightly open, soft curls hiding his forehead.

He tries to feel frustrated with him, but he can’t find it in itself. He looks way too content for that.

As the movie ends, Isak doesn’t stir one bit but curls a bit more into himself, his tall frame making the position slightly awkward, and not all that comfortable. Even can’t help but smile at his flatmate.

He feels a sudden and inexplicable urge to tread his fingers through the blond locks, just to see if they’re as soft as they look. He settles for going to get a blanket from his room and draping him over his sleeping form. It’s mid-afternoon now and daylight has dimmed considerably already. Even turns on of their side lamps on, hoping the light glow won’t wake up his flatmate.

Isak doesn’t move one bit but lets out a quiet sigh in his sleep. Even settles back down on the couch and takes out his sketchpad.

He spends the rest of the afternoon drawing in the relative silence of the apartment, Isak’s quiet breathing a soothing music. He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah chapter 7. This is where it all started. My inspiration from this fic came from a little moment between Isak and Even I had in my mind. In the end, this chapter didn't quite turn out as I'd originally planned. In my original idea, and the first draft, Isak was actually supposed to play a game on his phone and was going to geek out about the mechanics of it and everything. 
> 
> That was the whole starting point of the story actually. But then I came across the article about particle X17 and felt it served the story a lot more.  
I also chose to completely scrap another big part of this chapter as I felt it was way too early in this fic to happen. Maybe when the fic is done, I'll post the alternate version.  
I imagine some people might be disappointed by the very slow pace of this story, but I can't help it ahah. Also, I believe good things come to those who wait. 
> 
> Next two chapters weren't in my original plan for the story, so they might take some time to write, although I'd say I'm halfway through chap 8. Chap 10 will be the big Christmas part.
> 
> A quick word on my other fic: chapter 5 is complete, it just needs some fluffing out here and there, and will hopefully be posted on Wednesday, for those who are still reading it. 
> 
> **Finally, as per usual, a big thank you to everyone for your support, it really does keep me going.**


	8. Chapter 8

Isak enjoys the feeling of water gliding on his skin. He pushes harder, feeling his muscles protest against the effort, but basks in the speed increase and the impression of power it gives him. He overtakes one of the regulars again, reaches the end of the line, does a flip turn, and goes again.

As he stands under the shower, back against the cool white, glistening tiles, he lets the water wash down the soap and soothe his tired body. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this until he finally took it up again.

It used to be a way to unwind, relieve the stress when things got too hard in high school, and they so often did back then. Jonas had tried to get him to give skateboarding a serious try but had to eventually give up after the first dozen falls and bruises. But he’d suggested Isak find some sport to tire himself out as a way to deal with stress and insomnia.

He’d given swimming a go, more out of a vague nostalgia from his childhood days than genuine interest.

He wasn’t very good at first – and that’s an understatement – but he’d loved it instantly and quickly joined a swim club. He’d made huge progress in very little time and had gone on swimming throughout the rest of high school and then university.

The increase workload at uni, his job and his moving out of the Kollektiv had eventually put a stop to that. But now he feels he’s slowly gaining his footing, finally managing to find a semblance of balance in his life, he really wants to take it up again regularly.

These days, it’s a good way to clear his mind, albeit temporarily, of the doubts that have been assuaging him about his future.

He quickly gets dressed and jumps on his bike. It doesn’t take him too long to pedal his way back to the apartment. The cold wind claws at his cheeks and his thankful for the thick beanie and scarf Eskild got him last year. Rain has finally stopped two days ago, so now the sky’s mostly clear but temperatures have dropped significantly. Still, he enjoys riding this old beat up bicycle he bought at a yard sale from an overenthusiastic elderly gentleman.

He has a couple of hours free before he need to be at work, which means he can get some studying done and maybe make progress on his internship application. He stashes the bike in the hallway of the apartment building and easily climbs the stairs two by two.

He intends to grab a piece of toast and maybe something to drink from the fridge before locking himself up in his room and study until he needs to go to work. He doesn’t want to bother Even who warned him he’d might have some friends over. As always, the universe decides otherwise.

The sound of a quiet tune and calm voices greet him as he unlocks the door as silently as he can. Even and a brown-haired guy who look vaguely familiar seem to be in the middle of a pretty serious conversation when he pauses to take of his shoes.

His flatmate greets him with a gentle smile but his friends immediately stands up with a wide grin. He’s not quite as tall as himself or Even, but seems almost pouring enthusiasm. He shakes his hand vigorously, still smiling, introducing himself as Mikael.

“Since that rude fuck won’t even move to introduce us.” he adds with a wink.

Isak is only very slightly dazed, being used already to Magnus’ own brand of abrasive greetings. He introduces himself in turn. Mikael nods emphatically.

“Even mentioned you. And I remember you, Sana’s friend, right?”

“You mean, her best bud?” he can’t help himself. He hopes this gets back to her, so he can picture her falsely annoyed expression.

“That so?” asks Mikael with another smile.

Is that what Even’s friends do all the time? Stretch their faces until they get stuck in a permanent smile or something? That has to hurt at some point, doesn’t it.

He lets his gym bag on the floor and goes to the kitchen to grab his water bottle while Mickael joins Even back on the couch.

“Come on, dude. Join us. I want to hear how hard it is, living with this fucker!”

Isak hesitates. He really, really should get some studying done. Also, he’s not sure he has much to contribute at all. For all his friendly smiles and kind eyes, he’s aware how Mikael actually knows him: Sana’s nerdy friend. And he’s certain that Even’s mention of him hasn’t much improved that idea.

He’s also pretty sure Even doesn’t want him to intrude on his time with his friend. He’s already opening his mouth, an excuse about studying almost out when Even actually cuts him off.

“I know you need to study Isak, but you’re welcome to join us, you know.”

Whatever Isak was going to say, he can’t remember it now, still amazed at how considerate Even is, offering him an out while extending the invitation. Sometimes he wonders how Even seems to understand what he needs when he himself doesn’t even know it. It’s different from Eskild and Linn, or even Jonas in a way he can’t identify.

It’s clear now though that Even doesn’t see him as a stranger any more. Ever since that Sunday they spent together on the couch, talking and watching movies – and sleeping on Isak’s part – their relationship has shifted. At least, he didn’t seem to annoyed at his stupid rambling. They’re not just two strangers sharing a flat. He wonders if perhaps they might actually be headed toward a tentative friendship.

He’s not quite sure how he feels about that. God knows how hard it is for him to trust people, even harder to make actual friends. The very few ones he has are always encouraging him to meet more people, get out of his shell, go out and have fun. Only Linn knows how much he struggles to connect with people. And maybe Sana, too.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be Even’s friend. But letting someone in is daunting in a way that terrifies him. He’s worked hard to build a shell around himself, and it’s there for a reason. Not that Even is in anyway threatening to break that, he looks like the kind of guy who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

But Isak is not quite ready to get close to someone the way he’s close to Jonas, or Linn, or Eskild. Or even Magnus and Mahdi.

He goes to the kitchen and busies himself by making a cup of tea. It gives him more time to think of an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to sound rude, especially in front of someone he’s never properly met. So maybe he can join them for a few minutes, drink his tea and get some work done on his paper.

He almost reluctantly goes to sit on the other end of the couch with Even and blames it on the post-swim lethargic feeling he’s experiencing. His flatmate is watching him with a gentle smile on his face while Mikael is almost jumping up and down with excitement. Isak tucks his legs in and sets the steaming mug on the table. Almost prepared for the barrage of questions he knows is coming his way.

“So, tell me man. I want to hear it all. Especially the bad parts.” says Mikael, gleefully.

Isak opens his mouth wordlessly, turning to his flatmate for help. Even groans.

“Mik, leave the poor guy alone. Also, I’ll have you know I’m the perfect flatmate. Right, Isak?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at him. He looks perfectly ridiculous, but also, kind of nice. And reassuring. Although he says it in jest, he’s right. He is the perfect roommate, or close enough. Isak is pretty sure he’s never met someone as considerate and kind as Even. But if he’s looking for a compliment, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

“He’s not too bad, I suppose.” is what he settles for, with a small teasing smile.

Mikael guffaws and lets out a small laugh at his best friend’s shocked reaction.

“What? I am the best roommate ever. Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Isak can’t help but laugh a little at that.

“Let me guess, he’s been trying to educate you by showing thousands of movies and telling you all about them in excruciating detail?”

If he were to take a guess, he’d say Mikael is kind of Even’s Jonas. There is obvious history between them. He’s never seen Even like this before, and he kind of enjoys it. And yes, Even has been trying to get him to watch more movies with him, but Isak’s been busy all week and has spent most of his evening studying or working. He did try to sit down for something Even claimed was a masterpiece. And it probably is, Isak supposes. At least, from the ten minutes he saw, before falling asleep – again.

His insomnia has decided to make a grand return lately and he’s been spending most nights reading or working on his various papers. It has made staying awake through an entire film a challenge he’s yet to win. So even though he doesn’t actually mind Even rambling about the way movies are made, about this editing choice, that lighting technique, this camera move – not that he’ll ever tell him that, he thinks – he’s only heard a few minutes of it.

He schools his features in the most innocent expression he can.

“Well… He might have mentioned this guy. With the music thing and the weird Romeo and Juliet movie.”

Even’s eyes widen comically while Mikael lets out a loud, joyful laugh.

“Oh man, this is awesome!”

He holds up his fist which Isak bumps with a quiet chuckle. Even shakes his head and stares at him with a faux scandalized air of betrayal.

“And to think I wasn’t ever going to mention your rapping skills to anyone...” He laments.

What the hell. Isak gulps. He can’t possibly know about that, he thinks. He deleted his Instagram account years ago back when he was still in high school, so there’s no way… Unless.

“Eskild.” he deadpans.

Even shrugs, unrepentant, clear mirth in his eyes.

“He showed me while you were talking to Linn. That was some amazing rapping. Fifteen year old you looked _very_ tough.” He says with a snicker.

Mikael snorts and Isak feels his own face growing very warm.

“Ugh. I’ll get him back for that.”

He then leans back and crosses his arms with confidence.

“I’m the master of rapping, I’ll have you know.”

Even raises an eyebrow and throws him a challenging look.

“Oh really? Care to prove that?”

“I will. Just… Not right now.” he says lamely.

He gets a warm smile and sparkly eyes in return.

“Didn’t think so.”

Even turns to his friend, who’s now watching them intently. It suddenly looks like they’re having a silent conversation. It’s almost funny how familiar it all looks, the easy banter, meaningful looks and smiles.

Yet there is something. He can’t tell what, exactly, doesn’t know either of them well enough for that, but he feels it. Like something off key.

In the end, the change the subject to lighter, more consensual topics. Mikael, is exactly the kind of friend Even would gravitate towards, he imagines. Nice, easy-going, open and kind. They laugh at each other’s jokes, share the same sense of humour and views on most things, it seems. They do include him in their conversation, which is nice. Not that he would have minded staying silent and just observing them.

Mikael asks questions about him, genuinely curious about who he is without being intrusive. He doesn’t know how well he actually succeeds, but Isak tries to be as friendly as possible. He shares as little as possible without actually rebuking or conspicuously evading inquiries. It’s become second nature now, so it’s not that hard. He talks about his studies, without geeking out too much or mentioning how he’s been second guessing himself for over a year now. He speaks about Sana, but keep to the safer, more recent part of their history. He ends up glossing over much of his high school story and turns the questions back to Mikael.

It turns out that Mikael is working in a book edition company and does so volunteer work at a small radio station. He explains how he likes hearing or reading people’s stories and connecting to them. He talks about their whole_ He__i__ Bri__ske__by_ crew, their high school group of friend that includes Sana’s brother Elias.

From the corner of his eyes, he notices Even’s expression shift almost imperceptibly and wonders if he and his flatmate have more in common than he first thought.

And suddenly, Mikael asks him if he’s met Julie.

“Even won’t tell us anything about her.”

Isak gapes slightly, not quite sure what to say, while Even sighs, clearly uncomfortable. He has no idea who this Julie is, but he can take a guess.

“Mik. There’s nothing to say, I already told you that.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m not asking you.”

His gaze is focused on Isak who suddenly wishes he’d gone to his room. He isn’t aware Even was seeing someone, not that he cares. Whatever Even does with his personal life is his business.

“Errr… I don’t… We don’t...” he stammers awkwardly, looking to Even for help.

“We don’t talk about that, Mik. Isak doesn’t want to hear about my romantic life. I don’t like to talk about it.”

Well, he’s only half right, really. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hear about it, although he doesn’t particularly wish to. But if Even ever needs to talk, he supposes he should be lend a friendly ear. That’s what good flatmates do, right?

After a second silent conversation, full of eye rolling (that’s his move, by the way, he should pattern that) and eyebrow raising (definitely Even’s thing) Mikael seems to finally get the message. Unfortunately, it means he focuses back on Isak.

“What about you, man? Seeing anyone? Girl ? Guy? We don’t discriminate here.”

Isak feels his defences coming up. To be fair, it has been a while since anyone has asked him that question, that’s probably why it takes him by surprise, why he’s allowed himself to pretend it didn’t matter at all.

And it _doesn’t_, would say Eskild.

He’d be right, of course. Eskild is always mostly right (except when it comes to clothes, drinks or parties). And Isak is doing well. He’s accepted it, come to terms with who he is. He’s not ashamed, he’s ready to fight anyone who won’t let him be himself.

It’s just. It’s Mikael. And Even, who lives with him. And he knows Even won’t judge him, probably. But still. He feels like talking about his sexuality, in front of someone he’s just met, without having talked about it to his flatmate before, is going to open a can of worms he’s not ready to let out in this environment just yet.

Try as he might, Isak’s not confident enough right now. And also, who does this guy think he is?

It must show on his face because Even takes takes action and reprimands Mikael with a shove and a forced laugh.

“Dude, personal much?”

At least, Mikael seems to realise he’s overstepped his boundaries and raises his and in surrender before apologizing softly.

“Sorry man, I got carried away.”

Isak just nods mutely, barely able to repress the shame and anger that claw at his throat. The worst part is, it’s all directed at himself, for being too much of a... of a what, exactly?

He’s no coward. He could say it out loud if he wanted. He just doesn’t. It’s a regular source of annoyance, the idea that he almost always has to justify himself, explain everything, because people apparently just can’t take a simple answer and move on. It’s always questioning looks and silent wonders.

For all he likes to pretend he’s grown up, confident in himself and in who he is, projecting an image of calm and detached, he still hates it, the shift in their expression, the deep rejection disguised in superficial acceptance. He shouldn’t care, but today, he finds out that he does.

Conversation doesn’t flow as naturally after that. He’s definitely ruined the mood with his awkwardness and stupid hang-ups He tries to smile and ploughs through, ignore the issue as he so often does, but Mikael is now clearly ill at ease.

In the end he finishes his tea and excuses himself, muttering about studying, and retreats to the safety of his room. Maybe he _is_ a coward, after all. Of course, there’s no way he’s going to make any serious progress now.

He can’t bring himself to focus, the words dance a blurred waltz in front of his tired eyes. His brain endlessly replays the conversation offering various outcomes, each better than the previous one. Maybe he should have just come out with it. But why should he have to. And great, back to circular thinking.

He leaves the papers scattered on his desk, which he’s sure to regret later on when he’s too tired to tidy up everything and takes out his earbuds. He lets himself fall on his bed, enjoying the familiar smells and softness of his favourite pillow and lets the music blaring in his ear drown his thoughts.

An hour later, he’s regained enough control over his brain that he feels brave enough to step out and bid a quick goodbye to Even and his friend before going to get his bike. He shoots a quick text to Eskild and Linn, hoping to be conscious enough to call them later. He’s glad to be outside again, the cold air hitting his face is a welcome sensation as he rides his way to work.

The last few leaves are flying in a lazy rain around him. There’s talk of snow for next week and people are wearing thicker coats and scarves. The Christmas decorations on the streets remind him he should call his mum.

*

As he comes home late that evening, after long hours of work, dealing with the ever growing crowd of early Christmas shoppers, exhausted and despondent, he finds the apartment quiet and empty. He doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

There’s a note and a drawing on the fridge.

_At Elias’. Sorry about Mikael. Hope you’re okay._

He pins it with the others, on the wall above his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, those things keep getting longer and longer. 
> 
> It's funny, I certainly didn't intend for this chapter to be that long, especially since it wasn't in my original plan. I also didn't plan for the slight angst toward the end but it felt like a natural progression. Remember, one step forward, two steps back. I did turn it down a little, the original version felt too angsty.
> 
> So, Isak's sexuality. That's a big thing, which I've hinted at before. We'll come back to that in chap 13. Thoughts, anyone ?
> 
> This version of Isak is much more comfortable in his own skin but, like everyone, he has moments when he's not. I like that he's a mix of strong and fragile, pretty much like Even is. Also, he's a swimmer. I like having water as an important element in my stories. 
> 
> I will try to get next chapter out on Sunday 8th but I make no promise: I've got a busy week ahead (physics class to teach, ugh) and I haven't even gotten started on it. I can tell you it'll feature Even and... well. Someone else. Maybe two someones.
> 
> **The fact that people are still enjoying this story - and even commenting on it - blows my mind. Thank you so, so much ! **
> 
> PS. Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes, I've been working all day on that physics class, and my brain is just about to explode. But I did wanted to get this one out in time.


	9. Chapter 9

There’s music coming up from somewhere nearby. It’s not usually a busy street, it had been a definite selling point for him, and probably for Isak, too. But tonight, someone is playing Christmas music. He hears muffled voices singing softly to the tune of an acoustic guitar.

He slightly opens a window and lets the melody – and the bitter cold – in. He lets the festive songs envelop him like a warm blanket of joy. He loves this. Loves the happy atmosphere in the streets, the twinkling lights, the laughters and delicious smells.

Loves the soft golden hue bathing his apartment.

And certainly hopes that his parents will love the dinner he’s cooking for them. They should be here any minute now, but his dad is probably going to make them late, as per usual.

He’s put up some Christmas lights on the walls in the kitchen and living room, planning to buy some more some time this week. But the one thing this place is missing is a Christmas tree. He really, really wants to get one. Of course, Isak was quick to shut down the idea when he mentioned it.

Well, what he really said was: “Ugh. I’m not cleaning it.”

And he’d rolled his eyes.

Then he’d said something about Christmas trees being an ecological disaster. That people were so weirdly into a falsely cheery, fabricated tradition with artificial lights and disgusting food.

And maybe he does sort of have a point, somewhere deep down. But it’s Christmas, and Even loves this time of year, and he wants a goddamned Christmas tree. It used to be a tradition, with Sonja. They’d decorate the tree together, have an Advent Calendar, drink eggnog, what old Christmas movies, cuddle under a blanket and…

Yeah. He’s not doing that this year. He wonders what she’s doing this year – she’s probably with her parents – wonders if perhaps he should send her a text.

_Hey, remember when we were happy, last year?_

Except they weren’t, not really, hadn’t been for a long time. Of course, they’d realised that, much, much later. Sometimes it feels like he’ll never find something like this again.

Now he’s living with a grinch who’s half cuddly mogwaï, half grumpy gremlin. And who, apparently, hates Christmas.

That’s something he can’t fathom. Who doesn’t like Christmas, really? And okay, maybe Even is perhaps a tad over enthusiastic. Maybe, just maybe he hums Christmas songs a bit too often and bakes Christmas cookies and wants to transform their apartment in a Christmas chalet with tinsel, stars and lights.

Contrary to what Isak believes, it’s not about the gifts, or the food, or the decoration. It’s about creating a joyous atmosphere to spend time with the ones you love, to forget your burden for a few days, and just enjoy life festive celebrations. And if mulled wine helps, who’s Even to protest?

If Isak wants to keep being a grouch, that’s his loss. Even’s going to enjoy the hell out of this. And it’s starting with a nice, family dinner tonight.

It’s not the first time he’s cooking for his parents, he’s done it hundreds of time before, ever since his mother taught him. But it’s their first time in this still new apartment. The first time in a space that’s Even-without-Sonja.

He’s made them quiche, because he knows they love it. They love his cooking, of course they do, they’re pretty much obligated to, as parents. But they do have a real fondness for his quiche.

He also really wants to talk to them about Julie. She’s not the first person he’s met since Sonja, but she’s the first he wants to tell his parents about. He knows they’ll support him of course, but he can’t help feeling a little anxious. They might tell him that it’s too soon or that he’s not ready. And they might not be completely wrong either, it is soon. But he’s tired of being alone, and Julie is one of the kindest people he’s met in a while.

A ring stirs him out of his thoughts. Talk about the devils. He buzzes them in and spends the time they need to climb up the stairs by making final adjustments. The music outside has ended so he puts some of his own, gentle Christmas songs, almost whispered lullabies.

Still no sign of Isak. Even made a point of mentioning his parents’ visit, and subsequent dinner, to him but he’s not sure Isak remembers – or paid attention in the first place. The guy can be distracted sometimes. He’d given him a half-hearted groan of assent, not unlike that of the teenager he was a few years ago. It means that he has no idea if Isak will join them. He hasn’t technically invited him, but he certainly hasn’t told him to make himself scarce either.

Truth be told, he’s curious about what a dinner with both his parents and his flatmate would look like. He’s tempted to go and check on him, make sure he knows he’s welcome to join. He feels bad at the idea of Isak spending the evening locked in his room while he’s having a nice dinner with his family right next door.

In the end, the decision is taken from him as he hears a knock on the door.

Even never went through that phase when your parents are the last people you want to see, when the mere idea of talking to them requires insurmountable effort. He comes from a large extended family, but when it comes down to it, they’re all each other have and he’s always been close to them. So he doesn’t hesitate when, right as he opens the door, he finds himself engulfed in the warmest hug.

They stand like this for a good few minutes, soaking up each others’ love and affection. He feels ridiculous for almost wanting to cry at the amount of comfort their soothing embrace brings him. The core of his being warms up again and he tightens his arm around them.

It’s only been a few weeks, but he’s missed them.

“Hi, baby” is the soft murmur that comes to his ear.

Eventually, they separate but his mother keeps a hand on his arm. They both look at him for a couple of seconds before deciding that he probably looks good. After another, much briefer hug, he steps aside to let them in the apartment.

He likes the appreciative look they give the room around them. He follows their gaze as they go from the cosy living room, with the big couch, the armchair, the cushions, his TV set, the photographs and paintings on the wall, to the kitchen and its large windows, the island, high stools and the counters, the light hardwood floor.

“You guys did great, says his dad. This place looks amazing.”

He can’t help the proud smile on his face. It does look nice, and he’s pretty happy with himself. He doesn’t tell them it was all him. Isak hasn’t shown any interest in decorating, at all. He actually wonders if he bothered to decorate his own room at all. He’s probably the kind of guy who thinks science books are adequate ornaments.

His parents shed their thick scarves ad coat and the three of them go to sit on the couch. His father takes out a bottle of aquavit and a box of chocolate out of a bag he sets down.

“This is for you and Isak. We didn’t know what he likes, so we just went with that for tonight.”

For some reason, their thoughtfulness touches Even on his flatmate’s behalf. He knows Isak drinks alcohol – if that Halloween night is anything to go by – but has no idea if he likes chocolate. They haven’t shared many meals but he’s pretty sure he does.

“That’s great, guys. He’ll love that, I’m sure.”

He gets a happy look in return and goes to serve them drinks. He’s bought some mulled wine especially for the occasion, and he’s even added some spices in it. At least one of them will be able to enjoy it tonight.

“Your mother’s driving.” says his dad with a satisfied smile.

She shrugs.

“I’m pretty sure your father cheated.”

He laughs at their antics.

“And I’m pretty sure you can’t cheat at _shifumi_, mum.”

“That’s were you’re wrong, young scarab. Your dad’s just that talented.” she says seriously.

“That, I am indeed” adds his father with an air of solemnity that has him crack up.

He settles comfortably next to them. They banter some more, before asking how he’s doing. And that’s a loaded question. There’s so much to say. He wants to say that some days are better than others. That he’s been having ups and downs lately. That he gets excited at the prospect of Christmas, his internship at a middle school, at the possibility of getting serious with someone new.

But there’s his friendship with Mikael, that still feels very much fragile. They’ve been doing this weird dance, avoiding the elephant in the room, pretending that everything is fine. There’s the awkwardness around the boys, that comes and goes at the most unexpected moments.

Then there’s Isak, who seems to blow hot and cold at the same time, and Even’s never certain how to deal with him. He goes from friendly and soft, to distant and closed off from one minute to the next, leaving him perpetually confused. He thinks they’re on their way to something that might be friendship, but he can’t tell if he’s just imagining things.

If someone were to ask him if he thinks his flatmate genuinely likes him, he wouldn’t know what to answer.

And finally there is the loneliness still clings to him like a second skin he cannot shed.

So he settles for a “I’m good”, which fools absolutely nobody.

Of course, his mum, who’s always been able to see through his bullshit, asks him whether Isak will join them or not tonight.

And of course, said flatmate just chooses this moment to come out of his room, bleary eyes and messy hair, a hoodie that’s at least three times his size, backpack in his hands. He stops dead on his tracks when he sees three pairs of eyes fixed on him, opens his mouth wordlessly, looking very much like the proverbial deer in the headlights.

“Huh.”

Even almost wants to laugh at his eyes at his flatmate’s intelligent greeting but really doesn’t want to antagonize him more than he probably already has. He knows Isak’s brain tends to turn into mush after long hours of studying, which is pretty much every single day of the week.

His mother is the first one to recover and promptly stands up and goes to him. He barely has time to react before she engulfs him in one of her brief, but warm hugs. That’s when it happens. Even has now witnessed Isak interacting with other people enough times to notice how he immediately stiffens almost imperceptibly. Thankfully, his mother lets go almost before he says anything.

“Oh, sorry, I should have asked. I always do this. It’s very nice to finally meet you, Isak.”

She’s only marginally smaller than Isak, which tends to intimidate people, but the softness of her tone seems to put the skittish young man at ease.

“Sorry, I should have warned you, my mum hugs everyone. She’d hug animals, if she could.”

His lame joke seems to diffuse whatever last bit of unease Isak is obviously feeling, and his shoulder sag a little.

“Huh. It’s fine. I’m just not… Yeah.”

Even’s dad finally joins them and shakes Isak’s hand. Although a good head taller than Even himself, he’s definitely a gentle giant.

“It’s very nice to meet you indeed, Isak.” He says jovially. “And really, we must commend you for your patience, dealing with this one.”

He nods to Even.

“Hey!” He weakly protests. “Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, brag about me, or something?

His mother gives him a long-suffering look.

“Sweetheart, you have many, many talents. But your constant singing is nothing to brag about.”

Now that’s just unfair. He may not have the best singing voice, but he can sing a little at least. And what he lacks in natural talent, he makes up with enthusiasm. It’s not like he’s been doing that all that much in the apartment.

He shoots Isak a look, hoping to get some support from his flatmate – who is clearly averting his gaze.

_Oh._

“Really?”

“Hum.”

His dad put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, son, you have many other talents.”

His mother shoots him a winning smile. He lets out a small chuckle and turns to his flatmate once again, about to ask him if he’s staying for dinner, and finds him staring straight at him, an odd expression on his face.

Even wonders what he sees. He clears his throat.

“Do you want to have dinner with us?”

With three people suddenly focused on him again, Isak almost seems to shrink on himself. His Adam's apple bobs a few times before he finds his voice.

“Sorry… I was about to head over to Jonas’. And.. hum… I’m spending the night at Eskild’s.”

Even tries really hard not to let his disappointment show, but he feels himself deflating a little. His parents probably notice, but wisely choose not to say anything.

“Oh, yeah. Hum, that’s cool. Say hi to them for me?”

Isak nods mutely and goes to put on his coat and shoes on. He shoves a thick woollen beanie on his head.

“Nice meeting you, Mrs. and Mr. Bech Naesheim. See you later, man.”

He does an awkward little wave before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. And with that, he’s out the door. Even turns to his parents and find them looking at him with a questioning look.

“Well, that’s Isak.” he says with laugh that sounds fake even to his own ears.

They both nod, but say nothing for a short moment.

“Is everything okay between you guys?” asks his mother.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think his mother makes a point of asking difficult questions. Is everything okay between Isak and him? Things have been a bit strained since Mikael came over last week. And although he brushed off his apology, Even is pretty sure Isak is still bothered about Mikael’s probing and his reaction to it. He wants to say something, find a way to move on from that, but it turns out Isak is pretty good at avoiding talking to him.

But Even is a firm believer in clearing the air – despite recent evidence of the contrary – and he hates the awkwardness that sometimes permeates the air around them.

On the other hand, Isak is kind of the perfect person to share an apartment with. He’s neat, but not obsessive, quiet – maybe even too quiet – and most of all, doesn’t judge him.

While it does bother him that he and his roommate aren’t actually friends, he likes that they have separate existences. He loves that he can do whatever he wants and not get remarks or judgemental looks from him. It’s the one instance where he’s happy that Isak only cares for his studies.

But perhaps, he wishes their relationship wasn’t that awkward to elicit queries from his parents.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Isak’s always like this.”

He’s not sure what he actually means by that, and hopes that his parents will leave the subject to rest.

Realising that taking action is required, he distracts them by serving dinner on the kitchen island. He goes all out. Takes out the best plates he’s got – hand painted by a local artist, a gift from the guys – and lights a couple of candles. His parents smile at him, they’ve learn to accept that he lives for his movie moments, and they’ve come to love them as much as he does.

They all sit on the high stools and finally move on to safer subjects as they share the quiche – which his parents love – quiet music still playing in the background. It’s snowing lightly outside, Christmas lights reflecting on the windows.

His father regales with his latest stories from the lab he works at, while his mother complains about the unending hours spent marking student papers. He loves hearing about the most absurd things she reads in their papers. They bicker and tease each other, ask him more questions about his week. They talk about their plans for Christmas and their upcoming visit to his mother’s ageing parents in the country.

He’s serving them dessert – a small cheesecake he made this morning – when out of the corner of his eye, he sees his mother staring the fridge.

“Did you draw this?” she asks, nodding at the stick figure drawing stuck the fridge door.

He shakes a head with a small chuckle.

“Nah. Isak did it. That’s the note he left me yesterday. He can’t draw.”

He shrugs at their questioning look.

“It’s just a thing we do. I leave him a note with a drawing, and he leaves one with a stick figure or a smiley face.”

He’s not sure how to interpret the quick look they exchange.

“That’s nice.”

It _is_ nice, it’s kind of their thing. It’s one of the thing that gives him hope to eventually move past the awkward stage of being _sort-of-friends-but-not-really_. He’s ready to admit that he checked the bin a few times at first, wondering if perhaps Isak threw away the notes he left him. But unless he’s too polite to do that in their apartment, it seems that he’s kept them, which means that maybe he enjoys the pictures.

And he’s kept his flatmates stick figures notes. They make him smile. Isak compensates his lack of drawing abilities with a sharp wit. Even does enjoy the guy’s dry sense of humour.

They eventually go back to the couch, after they both plead him to bake cheesecake again for them at some point in the near future. He makes them tea – not as good as Isak’s.

Finally, he finds the courage to say the words he’s been wanting to say all evening.

“Oh, hum, by the way. I’m… kind of seeing someone.”

This time, he doesn’t miss the knowing look his parents exchange, and he’s glad for the happy smile he gets in return.

“Oh, that’s great, sweetheart.” says his mother.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” asks his father.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Girl. She’s a girl. Her name’s Julie.”

His parents seem to hesitate for a second, but when they quickly recover with a broad smile, he thinks that maybe he’s just imagining things. He’s never hidden his sexuality from them, but he’s never introduced them to a guy.

“What does she do? How did you guys meet?”

“She’s just started as a social worker. And hum...”

He tells them the story of his first meeting with Julie at Kaffebrenneriet, how she came in one day with gentle smile and turned him into a nervous idiot who’d gotten her order wrong. It had been years since he’d acted like that. And it had been a while since someone had looked at him that way. It had taken a few tries, and when he’d been about to ask her out on a date, she’d asked him out instead.

He’d let out a relieved laugh and an enthusiastic yes.

His parents tease him a little of course, but in their kind, loving way. They know how much he needs this. The romance, the small shows of affection, the kind smiles. And they understand why he’s so taken with this girl who’s been showing him that it’s okay to take a chance with someone again.

His mother puts a hand on his arm. He feels her love and pride for him almost seeping into his body.

“You’re so brave, baby. We’re happy for you. And I hope we get to meet her soon.”

He doesn’t tell them it’s definitely not on the agenda. They’ve only been on a few dates so far and he’s kissed her goodnight a couple of times. She’s called him old fashion with a small teasing smile, and a soft hand lingering on his.

They’ve been sending each other texts more or less regularly for a couple of weeks and he wants to take her to a movie next week. And maybe invite her over for dinner as well, although he wants to clear that out with Isak first.

They haven’t broached the subject since Mikael put his foot in his mouth last Saturday, Isak hasn’t been around all that often and Even hasn’t really found a way to start the conversation although he’s aware it’s one they need to have sooner, rather than later.

The one conversation they had, the one where Even only clumsily tried to talk about what Mikael had said and apologize – again – on his behalf – ended with Isak changing the topic before dozing off with yet another science book on his lap, _Memento_ playing on TV.

His parents stay for another hour, ask more questions about Julie and Isak before declaring it time to head back home. They part with another long hug and tender smiles.

The place suddenly feels much emptier without them, too eerily silent. The snow has finally let up outside. He blows out the candles. He sends Julie a quick text before clearing the table and doing the dishes. He stops in front of the fridge for a second and looks at Isak’s drawing. It’s perfectly ridiculous.

He puts it with the others, in the top drawer of his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I didn't plan for this chapter to be so long and hard to write. Out of the two I added to my original plan, this was supposed to be an easy one with one core idea: Even enjoying a quiet meal with his parents, talking about Isak and Isak meeting them and being awkward and shy. Be prepared to get more of that, Isak's relationship with Even's parents is something I really want to explore.  
Then along came Julie, who I know you guys love... ahah. I'll reiterate what I said in the comments, she's really not the enemy. She's very necesseray to the story and to Even's growth. I'll just leave it at that before I run my mouth and spoil the whole story.  
Okay, next chapter is the big Christmas one. It's probably going to take me more time to complete, so don't be surprised if it's not up next Sunday. Those next two chapters will mark then end of what I would describe as the first part of the story.  
I know a lot of you guys are wondering about Isak's past and how different it is from the show. You'll get answers, I promise. :)
> 
> **And again, thank you so much for the comments, the kudos and for simply reading and enjoying the story. I can't believe how long it's gotten and how many people like it. From the bottom of my heart, a big, big thank you.**


	10. Chapter 10

Both of his friends are high and Isak is trying really hard – and failing – not to roll his eyes at them.

They offered to share, of course. That’s basic human decency. But he’s to frazzled to smoke, he knows how he gets when he’s like this. Translate : emotionally raw.

He knows why too, but is afraid of even formulating the thought. Giving it a name will make it real. And as long as it’s not real, he can pretend. He’s so, so good at that. Isak the snake.

What he needs right now is to get so drunk that he’ll forget his own name. That he’ll forget the world around him, will get sucked into a welcoming oblivion, floating into the emptiness of a silent mind.

Looking at Jonas and Magnus, he can guess that it’s probably not going to happen tonight. If only Mahdi were here. Or Eva. Although they’d need to be on speaking term for that to happen. That’s probably not happening anytime soon either.

Magnus is doing this weird thing with his hair again, taking a strand between his fingers and squinting at it, almost like he’s trying to see if it’s real. He has half a mind to cut it for him and leave him bald. Jonas has his eyes closed like he’s sleeping, or maybe communing with a higher power. Possibly both.

Isak is bored, tense, and wants to forget. That’s never a good combination, he’s very well aware of that. It’s led him to more than a few tricky situations in the past. But he’s never been one to avoid repeating past mistakes. So he runs his stupid fucking mouth.

« Guys, we should do something. »

Jonas answers with a vague _hum_. He’s definitely not on the same planet any more. Possibly not on the same plane of existence.

« We are doing something, look ». says Magnus. « I can touch my nose with my finger. Longest arm ever ! »

He goes for a demonstration and pretty much pokes himself in the eye. Ugh.

« You guys suck. I want to go out. »

Jonas finally opens his eyes.

« Dude, c’mon. We’re good here. »

_But_ _I’m not_, he wants to say. If he’s honest with himself, he’s far from good. He’d wanted distraction. But not this kind of distraction. If anything, it’s probably making things worse.

« This is boring » is what comes out of his mouth.

Magnus groans.

« Issy’s being prissy tonight ! »

He stiffens and feels his jaw clench. He knows Magnus is just joking, because he’s flying high as a kite, but the words prick. This is really not what he needs right now.

« C’mon, Issy, don’t kill the buzz. »

He has to bite back a spiteful retort, trying to rein in his temper. His lack of sleep has definitely made his short fuse, well, shorter. The last thing he wants is a fight. But he might be looking for it anyway.

« We haven’t gone out for drinks in forever. » he tries.

« Hmmm. »

Jonas, eloquent as always.

Magnus snorts, still looking at his hair.

« Dude, you just want to get hit on by people so you can turn them down. »

He blinks. The words wash over him like a bucket of freezing water has just been poured over his head. Where does that come from ? He feels his throat constrict and finds himself unable to speak.

The rage that threaten to overcome him has his hands trembling. He needs to leave now, before he does or says something he’ll regret.

He doesn’t leave the two guys time to react before he stands up, shakily puts on his shoes, coat and scarf. In less than thirty seconds, he’s outside in the bitter cold, snow slapping his face, wind howling in his ears.

His heart is still beating painfully hard against his chest.

Why did he think it was a good idea ? Why is he reacting this way ? He ignores the obvious answer that comes to the forefront of his mind.

He taps a quick text.

_I need you._

*

Not twenty minutes later, Isak had warm arms wrapped around his tense shoulders. He lets himself sag a little in Linn and Eskild’s embrace. Suddenly, he feels so stupid for reacting like that. It’s all so absurd. But his throat still feels too tight.

Eskild runs a slow hand in his hair.

“You’re okay, baby J.”

In a matter of minutes, he sitting on the sofa, his former roommates on either side of him, a mug oh hot chocolate in his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head at Eskild gentle question. No, he certainly does not want to talk about it. That’s pretty much the last thing he wants.

He’s also very much aware that he needs to. He trusts them, his family. He trusts Linn’s quiet, but unwavering support and Eskild’s judgement free advice. If he only knew where to start. Thoughts are swirling in his mind and he can’t tell the beginning from the end, has no idea what caused what.

“I was at Jonas’, and Magnus said something.”

He cuts himself off. He knows they’re not going to judge him, they never have and never will. But old habits die hard and he feels a hint of familiar shame trying to claw at his insides.

“I… I wanted to go out. Just to… Have a drink or something.”

He stops again, aware that the vagueness of his statement is going to elicit more probing, but forces himself to continue.

“They were smoking, and I didn’t… It was probably not a good idea for me. So yeah. I just wanted to do something. And Magnus said...”

He gulps, feeling like a child about to tattle on his friend. He needs to get this off his chest.

“He said I just wanted to go out to get people to hit on me so I can reject them.”

He looks down, almost afraid of what he’s going to see.

“It’s stupid. He was high, I know. He didn’t mean… And I’m not…. I’m still… You know.”

Eskild sighs and runs gentle circles on his back, Linn tighten his arms around him.

“It’s stupid. After what Mikael said, after everything I thought I was… Ugh.”

He keeps his head lowered, doesn’t want to face the pity – or possible annoyance – on his family’s face.

“Isak...”

“I know, I know. I’m being stupid… I...”

“That’s not what I was going to say” Eskild cuts him off.

“Although you’re always kind of stupid.” remarks Linn.

“Ugh.”

He almost misses the look Eskild sends Linn and her shrugging back at him.

“I was going to say, Magnus is the one being an idiot. And I don’t care if he’s high. He’s supposed to be your friend. He should know better than saying stupid shit like this, he knows how much it hurt you back then.”

He really wants to defend Magnus, because despite being insensitive half the time, he’s still one of his best friends, and he stuck with him when everything went to shit, unwavering in is support. But tonight, he doesn’t have the strength and he thinks that maybe, Eskild’s not entirely wrong. Magnus was just joking, and maybe Isak is being oversensitive, but it really fucking hurts.

It just piles on, right after…

“How are you sleeping these days?”

He shrugs, and doesn’t answer. He could lie, but Eskild would see right through him and would call bullshit. He could tell the truth, but what’s the point, really? And it doesn’t have to do with anything. It doesn’t. What is he going to say? That it’s now gotten almost as bad as it used to be in high school? That he barely makes it through class, let alone shifts at the supermarket? That he’s considering forging a prescription for pills because he refuses to take the necessary steps to get it renewed?

Obviously, he doesn’t need to say all that. Eskild knows, he always fucking does. And if Eskild knows, Linn does too. And Isak’s back to being the fuck-up he was in high school.

“Isak.”

“I’m fine. It’s fine, really.”

“You look like someone gave you two black eyes.” deadpans Linn.

He shrugs again. Yeah, he looks like shit. He doesn’t need anyone telling him, there’s a mirror in the bathroom and he sees his ugly face every day, thank you very much. His hair is a bird’s nest, his clothes hang off his shoulders and his eyes are dull and sunken. How’s that for self-awareness?

He ignores the comment – and the looks.

“Do you mind if I spend the night? Even is having his parents over and I kind of told him he could have the place to himself.”

He avoids Eskild’s eyes again. It’s only half a lie. Thankfully, his former flatmate is too distracted by the information to bother him.

“Oh! Did you meet them? What do they look like? Did you speak to them? Are they nice? Is his dad as hot as Even?”

Ew. He frowns at Eskild’s questions, eliciting a bark of laughter from the older man.

“Chill, Baby J, I’m joking.”

He turns to Linn, and fake-whispers:

“I’m really not.”

Isak groans.

“I only met them in passing. They seem… nice, I guess.”

And they were. The unexpected hug hadn’t been entirely unwelcome – mostly – but he’d been too surprised to react adequately. He didn’t want to say he’s not used to parents hugging him, but the thought was pretty much at the forefront of his mind.

“Too bad you couldn’t have dinner with them, imagine what you could have learned!”

Yeah, too fucking bad. Because spending the evening with Even and his parents, witnessing first-hand the love pouring out of them, the attention, the care, the smiles, is really what misses from his life. He’s seen more than enough already to feel something ugly twist within him.

The thought almost forms but he manages to stop it in time, he’s not going to go there. He’s fine.

“How’s Ren?”

His friend’s face almost immediately lights up and he starts gushing about his “gorgeous and amazing boyfriend” who is going to be late at home tonight.

He only half listens and loses all focus when he feels Linn tighten her hand on his arm and lay her head on the crook of his neck. He closes his eyes, just for a second.

*

The two weeks that follow are literal hell. He’s buried under a ton of revisions and papers to finish. He ends up having to cut his work hours to cram in more hours of studying. He’s not much use to anyone anyway – he’s barely conscious when he gets out of class.

His stress levels has been reaching heights he didn’t existed which means he’s been even more wound up than usual. He’s actually snapped at Even – Even, of all people – who’d asked him if he wanted to decorate the Christmas tree he’d gotten for their place. As if he cares about some stupid fucking tree – when he has much more important things to do.

He’d tried to ignore the flash of hurt across his flatmate’s face and the sudden tension in the room, but he hasn’t been able to erase it from his mind. He’s apologised of course – a muttered sorry, head hung in shame – but he’s avoided the apartment as much as possible ever since.

His sleep pattern is fucked, obviously. His insomnia is kicking in full force and he barely gets more than a few hours in a whole week. On the plus side, he knows every single thing by heart, he can recite every concept, every formula, every theory from the top of his head without breaking a sweat.

There is a part of him that enjoys it. Knowing that he’s able to handle the pressure and effort of a highly demanding course. That he can let himself drown in science and disappear, become a sponge, absorbing all knowledge, leaving the mortal coil of Isak Valtersen behind.

Also, it’s made forgetting the whole thing with Magnus a lot easier. Every personal issue he might have has been pushed back to the confines of his mind, and he can’t say he’s not fond of the idea.

He got separate texts from Magnus and Jonas a couple of days after but has yet to answer them. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. But considering how he acted with Even, he thinks it might be a good idea to avoid his friends, lest he say something he doesn’t mean.

It makes ignoring the other texts and calls a lot easier too.

Then his exams come and it all crashes down.

He knows the answer to every single question, he really does. But as he sits on the hard plastic chair, pen in hand, ready to open the dam and let all knowledge and reasoning pour out of him in a torrent of scientific words, he finds he can’t make sense of the black letters and signs that almost dance before him. Worse, he can’t makes sense of his own thoughts. He doesn’t know what to write, or even where to start. Everything gets mixed up in his mind. He can’t tell A from B. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

As he exits the exam room, he thinks he might be shaking. He wants to throw up. He can almost hear people’s mocking and disappointed voices. They echo voices all too familiar.

*

He comes home on Friday night, empty and defeated. He thinks he might try to appeal to the faculty members, beg for a chance to retake the exams, if he can find a valid excuse. Problem is, he doesn’t have one.

The living room is empty but he hears stupidly soft music coming from Even’s room as he let himself fall heavily on the couch. The Christmas tree is there, electric lights emitting a dim white glow, wooden decorations hanging off the branches.

The irrational part of him wants to take out his disappointment and anger on the tree, on Even. Rip everything, hurl insults. Sometimes, he just wants to watch the world burn.

The other part… doesn’t. Let’s leave it at that.

He loses track of time, staring at the lights, trying to shut down his brain before the sound of Even’s door opening pulls him back to reality.

“Oh. Hi. Didn’t hear you come home.”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs and hates himself for being the cause of the awkwardness that’s now defining their relationship. It’s like they’re back to being strangers, and it’s entirely his fault.

Even shuffles, messes his own hair. He’s wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater. The only things missing are the dorky reindeer antlers.

“How did your exams go?”

“Fine” Isak lies. “Yours?”

“Not too bad, I think. Easier than I expected actually.”

Of course. Because everything Even does is so great and easy for him, he always has it so fucking good, he thinks bitterly.

“Great” he says flatly.

His lack of enthusiasm would have deterred most people, and he sees how Even loses some of his warmth toward him. It had to happen at some point, he rationalises. He’s kind of anticipated it.

“Right. I’m going out with the guys to celebrate the end of the semester… You can join us if you want.”

He barely holds back a scoff at his flatmate overly polite, albeit ludicrous invitation. The last thing he wants is to hang out with the guy he keeps pushing away and his group of disgustingly merry friends he has no interest of actually meeting.

“I’m good.” he replies with forced nonchalance.

He makes himself keep a relaxed posture and turns away from Even, effectively dismissing him. Why can’t he scrap out image of Even and his parents from his mind?

He hears him sigh, thinks there might be a muttered “dickhead” too. He is being a dickhead. That’s kind of his default setting. It’s almost surprising how long it’s taken Even to realise it. He takes out his phone and pretends to focus on the screen and not on Even moving around the apartment, getting ready to head out.

“See you later then.”

He doesn’t even bother to reply. The apartment door closes behind his flatmate, and he’s finally alone again. His anger evaporates almost immediately, leaving him alone with resentment and regret.

*

Even is in a sour mood when he gets to the Bakkoush residence. His happiness and enthusiasm at finally being on holidays and having passed his exams have effectively been crushed by Isak’s hostile behaviour.

He seldom gets angry, it’s not in his DNA programming he supposes. He abhors conflict and tries to avoid it as much as he can. He doesn’t yell at people or get aggressive. But tonight, he felt like punching Isak, which is the part that surprises him the most.

Worst part is, it’s been going on for a couple of weeks already. The guy’s clearly been stressed out by his exams – he’s not covering that as well as he thinks – and has been a real pain to live with.

And he can understand that he’s under a lot of pressure, he’s no stranger to that himself, but it doesn’t give him the right to be such a prick all the time. The few times Even’s seen him or talked to him, all he got was short, gruff answers, eye-rolling and bad attitude. He’s even snapped at him about decorating their Christmas tree.

Well, his Christmas tree really, since Isak is apparently to good to stoop so low as decorating hit. He’s sorely disappointed and feels stupid for thinking that they were becoming friends. He wonders if there isn’t a deeper issue or if maybe what he sees now is the real Isak. It seems that Isak is finally showing his true arrogant and unpleasant self.

He forces thoughts about his idiot flatmate out of his mind and knocks on the front door. He’s going to have an amazing time with his friends – it feels like forever ago since they last hung out together – and celebrate, laugh, joke and just enjoy each other’s company.

Of course, Sana is the one who opens the door.

She gives him an appraising look before her face relaxes into a genuine smile and she pulls him into a hug. He has to bend down to wrap his arms around her and basks in the warmth of her embrace.

“Didn’t know you were back already.”

“My last exam was this morning, so I took the first train back.”

They finally let go of each other and he can observe her for a few seconds, aware that she’s doing the same with him. It’s been a while since he last saw her, and she looks really good. She’s got this healthy and happy glow he hasn’t seen in a while.

They’ve never been that close, but he’s always have a soft spot for her and she for him. She usually regards her brother’s friends as idiots, but he knows that she sees him in a different light. He doesn’t want to think that his bipolar and what happened to him a few years ago have anything to do with it.

“How have you been?” she asks at the say time he’s asking “How are you?”

They share a chuckle.

“I’m very good, thank you. Happy to be on a break.”

He nods.

“Yeah. I can imagine exam period must have been pretty stressful for you.”

“It’s very demanding, yeah.” she confirms. “But nothing I wasn’t expecting.”

She makes it sound almost easy it reminds him she’s almost certainly one of the smartest people he knows. He’s aware his own exams were nothing compared to hers in terms of difficulty and time-consuming revisions, but when he thinks of Isak and the nights he’s spent studying, he has to wonder.

“What about you? How did your exams go? Still hanging out with my idiot brother I see.”

He smiles ruefully, not missing the barely hidden hint.

“Pretty good, I think. I’m really enjoying this year. It was hard at first, with everything. But it’s a lot better now. And yeah, still hanging out.”

He pauses for half a second.

“Things are… good. Getting there, I think.”

They move to the living room, where he gets an armful of Mrs. Bakkoush who still gushes about how tall he is, and worries about how thin he looks. She also asks him about Isak, says she misses having that sweet boy – right – over, then she asks him about Julie and it reminds him to tell Elias to stop opening his mouth all the time.

Sana places a warm cup of tea in his hand.

“Elias is still in the shower” she says by way of explanation.

He thanks her with a smile. His eyes quickly scan the room. Nothing has changed, save for a couple of photographs that look new.

“And how is Isak? Not making your life too difficult I hope.”

Her statement makes him hesitate. He knows the both of them are close and keep in touch regularly. What he doesn’t know is what Isak has told her.

“Hum… Good” is what he settles for in the end. “Things are good, you know. We’ve both been pretty busy.”

His answer sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. Sana is staring at him through narrowed eyes.

“What has he done?”

The last thing he wants is to rat out Isak to his friend. Their friend. But he hates lying as a principle. He’s also extremely bad at it.

Sana must interpret his silence as a confession and takes pity on him.

“He hasn’t answered my texts. That never happens. He knows better.”

He shrugs and raises his hands in defence.

“Like I said, he’s been busy. Exams you know.”

There’s no deterring her though, and the frustration is growing clear on her face. She’s about to speak up again when Elias – whom he’s now calling his eternal saviour in his head – makes his entrance.

“Hey man, sorry about the wait.”

They bump fists.

“It’s been ages, I’ve missed you, dude.”

“You too, man.”

Even returns the embrace but does not miss the annoyed look Sana is giving her brother.

“We good to go then?” asks Elias.

“Yup.”

His relieved smile is short lived. The heavy look Sana is giving him only means one thing: their conversation is far from over.

*

Everyone is here, that includes Yousef.

“I’m not staying long though.”

He lets himself be teased good naturedly by the gang who accuse him of being whipped – which he doesn’t try do deny. Even’s genuinely happy for his friend. He’s had his eyes on Sana for so long that there was a time he thought he’d marry Sonja before Yousef even got passed his hesitation of asking Sana out.

Even Elias had tried to get him to make a move. Elias who’d pretended to be offended and disgusted by the mere idea of his sister dating anyone.

But Yousef – the wisest of them all – had bided his time. Of course it had all gone to shit when he’d finally gotten the courage to do something about his feelings. Something about Sana and one of her friends in high school. At least, that’s what Even had heard. He hadn’t exactly been around back then.

They settle in a secluded corner of the bar. It’s a place Even’s never seen before. Crowded with people his age, students celebrating, most likely, young waitresses and waiters, beautiful old fashion Christmas decoration, old wooden table, joyous music. There’s flat screen TV in the corner, showing a muted talent show he thinks.

They quickly move on from Sana and Yousef to the topic of exams. Mutta and Adam lament at their obviously epic failures – their words – while the rest seem pretty pleased with themselves. Mikael especially.

“I think I did pretty good, you know” he half-whispers to Even who’s sitting right next to him.

Their arms are touching. There was a time when this would have been a big deal for him. Now he’s just happy to be close to his friend again. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Yeah, me too actually. I was almost surprised. I’ve never done too well at exams, but I don’t know. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Isak. He didn’t seem too happy with his.”

“You think he failed?” asks Mikael, clearly surprised. “He’s always sounded pretty smart, from what little I’ve heard.”

Even shrugs. Isak clearly wasn’t very keen on sharing his thoughts, so he can only guess.

“Yeah, Sana always says that he’s like a certified genius.” adds Elias.

They let out a collective snort.

“Sana did not say that. Ever.”

Elias shakes his head.

“She says he’s useful. That’s Sana’s word for genius. You guys know how she is.”

Yeah, they do. Sana’s a lot more mature than all of them combined and they’re used to her no-nonsense attitude. Even can’t help but notice the slight dreamy look Yousef suddenly gets. He doesn’t quite hold back a smile at his older friend’s obvious love.

“Things going okay with him, by the way?” asks Yousef.

He shrugs non-committally. That’s the million kroner question, isn’t it?

“He’s been pissy lately, but it’s fine I guess. It’s not like we spend too much time together.”

“Yeah, he’s always studying” remarks Mikael.

“Ugh. So boring.”

Even doesn’t want to say anything. He’s not overly fond of Isak’s tendency to stay locked up in his room and study night and day- to say the least – but he doesn’t judge him for that. If studying is what makes Isak happy, then so be it. Although he sometimes wonder if he actually enjoys it. From his attitude those past two weeks, he has serious doubts.

But Even himself doesn’t lead the most exciting life, and he’s happy with that. He’s learnt that it’s not what he wants in life. He doesn’t go out as often as the guys, he studies quite a bit too, sees Julie more or less regularly now, works at Kaffebrenneriet and spend the rest of his time at the apartment. For someone like Adam, this would probably be monotone, but for him it’s comfort and safety.

“In any case, it’s really good to see you, man.” says Yousef.

“Yeah, it’s been such a long time since we were all together!” exclaims Mutta.

Mikael sends him a happy smiles, which he returns._ I’m happy to see you too_.

“Oh, by the way guys, what are we doing for New Years?”

Adam’s been hounding them with texts for weeks about their plans for new Years, which probably explains why he didn’t too well in his last exams. Truth is, they’ve talked about doing something together, the six of them, for the first time in years, but they haven’t really come up with anything. He’s grateful to Adam for being so invested in this.

“It’s a bit late to rent a cabin.” warns Yousef. “Maybe we could go see the fireworks?”

“Man, I love those fireworks.”

Elias almost looks like a child with stars in his eyes, he’s always had a strange obsession with them. Even is content to sit back and let them talk about it for a while longer, discussing ideas until they all turn to him as one man. That cannot be good.

“Out of all of us, you have the nicest place.” says Elias. “Not that we’ve ever seen it.”

He’s right of course. It’s been four months now, and he’s only invited Mikael over – with good reason. Not that it amounted to much in the end. They’d talked a lot, but kept dancing around the issue.

It frustrates him to no end. They keep trying, him and Mikael, him and the guys. He wants to push, and push some more, force the issue out in the open, get it dealt with once and for all.

But the thought alone terrifies him.

So he plays along, pretends everything is fine and they’re a happy, rowdy bunch of young, carefree adults.

“Guys...”

Mikael is looking at him with big brown puppy eyes. Giving him what he secretly calls his Puss-in-Boots look. It’s kind of irresistible, he should know.

“Shit, they’re right, it’s actually perfect! We can have a party at your place, just the few of us. Yousef can bring Sana if he wants, and you can bring Julie, we want to meet her!”

They look so happy with this idea that he just really wants to say yes, go for it, fuck the consequences, forget bout the fact that he has a flatmate who is definitely not a people person. He wants to have fun with his friends, celebrate the new year, introduce them to Julie.

It might look that way but he hasn’t been trying to hide her from them, or them from her. But he still thinks of Sonja and he really wants to take his time, go step by step. And they’re right, of course they are: a New Years Eve party at his apartment with everyone is the perfect opportunity.

So he relents.

“Alright, I’m going to ask Isak, but I’m not promising anything. It’s his place too, and he’s allowed to say no.”

The boys nod in unison, big smile on their faces. They all high-five each other – and it looks ridiculous.

“The little nerd better say yes, or I’m sicking Sana on his ass.” says Elias.

Yousef is quicker to react than Even and hits him on the back of his head – roughly if the guy’s yelp of pain is anything to go by.

“Dude, don’t talk about him like that, that’s not cool.”

Mikael and Mutt share the same annoyed expression.

“It’s really not.”

It’s funny. He’s still angry at his flatmate, but seeing his friends defending him against Elias’ stupid comments warms his heart. Although that’s probably the mulled wine talking. They talk some more bout their plans – party at the apartment and then fireworks in the city – about finally meeting Julie, about their different plans for Christmas, before Yousef leaves them to meet up with Sana.

He gives Even a warm hug and a pat on the back.

“It was really nice to see you man, we should hang out more. And I’m really looking forward to meet Julie. I’m happy you’re happy again.”

Words get stuck in his throat at his friend’s kind voice, so he just nods and hugs him back.

The rest of them end up going for pizza, right across the street. Even watches them banter and laugh, and argue and whisper. That weird sensation he sometimes get is back. In a way, he’s very much an outsider, watching from a distance. But he also sees himself in this group, toeing a fine line between in and out. He notices things he hadn’t seen before. Mikael and Adam being very tactile with each other, Elias’ unsure laugh, Mutta looking at him with questions in his eyes.

As conversations flow around him, he hears himself answer with words with no thoughts, smiles with no truths. Sounds get more and more muffled and he feels his mind floating away. He forces it back, anchors himself to his best friend beside him. Things turn sharper again, more real.

Mikael sends him an unsure smile.

Is it when they realise something needs to happen?

But not here, not tonight. Soon maybe.

*

It’s late when he gets home. Well past midnight. He’s barely inebriated but still feels the slight buzz of alcohol prickling his skin, softening hard edges. The apartment is completely dark and silent.

The sight that greets him when he turns on the light has his breath catch in his throat.

Isak is curled up on the couch, looking smaller than a man his size has a right to. From the way he’s still dressed, it looks like he hasn’t moved since he left him earlier. Gingerly, he steps closer and notices a half folded sheet of paper that looks like it’s fallen from his hand.

There’s a stick figure drawing on it.

A character that looks like Isak – it has big curly hair – is putting something on Christmas tree that seem to be defying all laws of physics. Isak’s written a few words beneath it:

_In another universe, I’m not such a jerk. I’m sorry._

He turns to the tree and sure enough, there’s a new decoration there. A simple silver snowflake, glowing gently. And it might be the single most beautiful Christmas decoration Even’s ever seen. He doesn’t realise how close his hand is to Isak’s hair until the phone on their coffee table comes to life.

Before he has time to question his actions, he picks it up.

Isak’s got three missed calls from his mother and two from an unknown number.

The battery sign on the screen blinks a few time, and the screen goes blank. Heart beating loudly against his ribcage, Even sets it back down without a sound.

Before going to bed, he sends a few texts to Julie, he puts a blanket over his sleeping flatmate and fixes him some food for tomorrow.

As his head hits his pillow, his brain unconsciously starts assembling pieces of a puzzle that he will be no closer to figuring out in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! Despite it being crazy long, this chapter was actually very quick to write, but a pain to edit. I've spent the past 4 days erasing parts of it, re-writting others... I'm still not a 100% satisfied, but when am I ever?
> 
> I know I said this would be the Christmas chapter, and it was going to be, but it's way too long already, and the actual Christmas bit, which will be in the next chapter, is pretty meaty as well.
> 
> This chapter was more angsty than the others, but fear not, next one should be much lighter on that. On the other hand, there will be more angst - on Isak's part, as he'll have to confront his (many) issues. Also, angst means comfort, so...
> 
> I have no idea when part 11 will be out, hopefully sometime around Christmas...
> 
> ** Again, thank you so much for those who are sticking with this story and still enjoying it. I love all your comments and interaction, so a big thank you for that as well! Love you guys! **


	11. Chapter 11

_There are many mysteries in this world._

Things that science cannot explain. Events and occurrences that the human brain cannot comprehend.

This is one of them.

Children laughing joyously with the innocence of youth, parents smiling fondly, taking dozens, hundreds of pictures on their mobile phones. Lovers holding hands, getting lost in each other’s eyes, all moving gracefully, dancing, drawing circles, light as feathers.

The city is alive with the magic of Christmas, a light breeze reddening round cheeks, fresh thick snow covering every surface, the sky a blanket of soft silver.

Everywhere, and here especially, people hold hands.

He looks at the one in his. Glove covered and much, much smaller than his own heavy paw.

The cold is finally getting to him.

_There are many mysteries in this world._ And ice skating is one of them.

The bottom of his jeans is slowly, but surely, getting soaked. He awkwardly tries to stand up again, only to once more land on his butt. He raises his eyes to meet Julie’s clear hazel, sparkling ones. She’s trying – although not very hard – to contain her laughter. Her smile is both kind and teasing. She manages to help him up after a few tries.

“Come on.” she says as she pecks his lips so briefly it feels like a sudden flash of lightning.

He lets himself be pulled along and they go again, skating slowly and – on his part – very unsteadily.

_Spikersuppa_ is a lot more crowded than usual. Whole families dressed warmly for the occasion, young and elderly couples, tourists and casual onlookers all seem to have gathered near the ice rink and the Ferris wheel to enjoy the festive atmosphere, laughters, lights and delicious smells.

It was Julie’s idea. To do something fun and take advantage of the Christmas feel. He’d let himself be easily convinced of course. He hasn’t seen her as often as he’d like recently, and he’s more than happy to escape the apartment and all things Isak related.

He’s never tried ice-skating before. Even’s generally a pretty confident guy, and he’s not afraid to admit that on this one, he’s perhaps been a tad overconfident. For some reason, having long legs didn’t help him much. As soon as he stepped on the rink, ready to impress his girlfriend, despite his complete lack of experience, his feet had decided to go in different directions. He’d tried to grab Julie’s hand, something, anything other than empty air, to no avail. He’d ended right on his butt, not having stood upright for more than a grand 4 seconds.

So he’s resigned himself, and follows in slow, clumsy steps, feeling gawkier than ever, holding to that small hand for dear life.

The happy expression on Julie’s face is more than worth it, though. Tufts of auburn curly hair are poking out of a light blue beanie, her darker skin slightly reddened by the cold, eyes bright with happiness, she leads him with care.

He thinks he could get used to her hand in his.

Things with Julie are easy, uncomplicated. She was honest with him from the start, explaining that she’d just got out of a long and complicated relationship. They both want the same thing. Something simple, honest. And it is. They both like each other and want to spend time together. There’s a tiny part of him that hopes it could eventually turn into something more, but for now he’s simply genuinely happy.

They go on for half an hour. Which means two more falls, half a dozen scares, three collisions with not-so-innocent children, and one very wet pair of jeans. After that, they go back to Julie’s place, a small but very nice studio on the top floor of an old building where they spend the rest of the day.

They cuddle on the couch after he’s changed into a pair of dry and warm sweatpants, watch a movie, drink hot chocolate. They kiss languidly, Even slowly caressing Julie’s unblemished skin.

The sun has already set, streets now only aglow with the twinkling multicoloured Christmas lights, by the time they repair to the bedroom.

“Have you asked your flatmate about the New Year’s Eve party?” asks Julie while he’s cooking her minced meat and mashed potatoes.

He shakes his head. He hasn’t. He barely had time to talk to Isak, barely saw him really. He’d found him awake in the morning, or at least somewhat conscious, pushing around the food that Even had made for him the night before. He’d ducked his head, muttered an apology, but had otherwise kept his mouth clamped shut. And by the time Even had been done making his own breakfast, Isak had left for work, dishes done and dry.

“Are you guys doing better?”

She looks at him with concern. He knows she worries about his well-being – not obsessively like Sonja did – and maybe about Isak’s too. He guesses it makes her good at her job.

“Not really. I found him sleeping on the couch last night. He left me a not saying he was sorry, and he apologised again this morning but I don’t know… Things are weird. Again.”

He doesn’t mention how close he was to treading his fingers throughthe blond curls, or that he made Isak food and kept his note. He doesn’t know why, it all just sound ludicrous.

“I just… I never know how to act around him.”

She nods mutely, her gaze turning pensive.

“Maybe there’s something wrong going on.”

“What do you mean?”

He can’t help the surprise tone at her question, although he’s asked it himself a few times already. Is something wrong with Isak?

“I don’t know” she hesitates. “From what you’ve told me about him, it feels like he’s dealing with something, and he might need to talk to someone.”

He scoffs at the very idea of Isak talking about anything even remotely personal. He thinks he might have more luck engaging in a discussion with a rock or a dead tree trunk.

“Yeah” she says with a smile, “he doesn’t sound like the talkative kind.”

She pauses.

“Also… he might have sleeping issues.”

His thoughts stop short. He should be surprised, astounded, but he’s not. It makes so much sense.

“The studying all night, falling asleep randomly during the day, fatigue, irritation and stress. Those are clear symptoms.”

He can only nod, not trusting his voice, feeling stupid for not reaching that conclusion earlier. He’s only told Julie a few things about his roommate, and yet, she put two and two together so fast that it makes him wonder why he didn’t.

“I don’t really know what to do.”

She sighs.

“There isn’t much for you to do, other than listen. You can’t force him, if he doesn’t want to talk. It’ll just make things worse. I would say, just make sure he knows you’re there, and let him come to you in his own time.”

He watches her set the table, wondering how he got so lucky to find someone so kid and understanding as her.

“But you need to make sure you put yourself and your health first, okay?” she adds.

He reassures her that he will and resolves to find a way to make Isak understand he’s willing to help him, before altogether pushing the issue out of his mind. Tonight, he just wants to spend some time with his amazing girlfriend and forget about his flatmate.

They discuss their respective plans for Christmas – he’s going to his parents and she’s spending it with her dad and sisters – and New Year’s Eve.

She’s more than happy to meet his friends, and he’ll meet hers. It feels like and important step in their relationship, without adding the pressure they both try to avoid.

*

_There are many mysteries in this world._

Things that science cannot explain. Events and occurrences that the human brain cannot comprehend.

This is one of them.

Screaming children throwing tantrums, crying crocodile tears in the middle of an aisle to get the latest Star Wars Lego set. Tired parents on the verge of a nervous breakdown giving up under the guise of keeping their progeny – and themselves – happy. Fighting couples and lonely souls navigating the overwhelming crowds. Throngs of people, coming and going, crashing like relentless waves of unending consumerism.

The store is alight with shouts and loud voices, buzzing with frustrated and impatient cries. Faces contorted in angry scowls and exhausted grimaces. Carts overflowing with plastic toys and greasy food, vomiting their contents on the ever rotating conveyor belt.

Sitting behind his cash register, feeling the exhaustion clouding his thoughts, Isak is scanning bar codes faster than his brain can process. His fingers fly over the touch screen as he enters code after code, processes payment after payment. Numbers dance in front of his tired eyes, as he works on automatic pilot.

His stress level is so high that he’s just mostly numb now. The noise around him and the yells he’s been subjected to since starting early in the morning have increased his migraine tenfold. There’s a whole orchestra of hammers playing a symphony in B minor in his head now.

The detached part of him is aware of the mindless drone he is, of the shitty job he’s doing. He’s being stared at by the manager who hasn’t fired him yet, only because he needs him, right now, in the literal hurricane of Christmas season.

His hands are working with a mind of their own, detached from the rest of him. He barely greets customers with a monotone voice, answers questions with a nod or a shake of the head, doesn’t wish them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. There is nothing fucking merry about it. There’s just people buying more, more and more. New phones, new TV, new consoles, new whatever. Fake everything.

All the gifts he’s getting for the very few people he likes are either cheap or second hand. It’s mostly out of a weirdly combined sense of tradition and guilt, because his friends always get him something.

And Isak hates owing people anything. It’s stupid, he knows. He shouldn’t feel that way toward his friends, but he does. His life feels like a huge debt sometimes, one he never asked for, one he can never repay. It makes him wants to shout “I didn’t ask for this.”

It’s all just a phase though. He’s just feeling a bit down because of the anxiety and lack of sleep. In a couple of weeks, it’ll be back to normal. He’ll bounce back and those past few days will be a distant memory.

In the meantime, he has one last gift to find. Two, really, but he doesn’t want to think about the other one, if he can avoid it.

The one at the forefront of his mind is the trickiest one so far. He needs something that says: “Sorry I’m a shitty flatmate, thank you for being so patient and please, don’t kick me out” while also being cheap.

Isak is broke. Broke as fuck. He’s going to have to work every single day during Christmas break if he wants to be able to make rent, get what little food he actually needs and afford those last two presents.

He’s already thinking about getting a second job. And he doesn’t even want to imagine what things are going to be like when he has to start uni again in January. And then the internship.

So finding a gift for Even is the perfect short term goal to distract him from, well, everything else.

He’s made a chart, because he needs things to be organised in order to makes sense. And also, charts are amazing. He always does this for every person he has to buy a gift for, and they usually don’t have to make too much of an effort to pretend they don’t entirely hate his presents.

He’s listed what he knows about Even and his tastes, which is actually more than he thought he did. It’s not really that difficult, all things considered. Even is open and talkative. And they’ve been sharing an apartment for four months now, so Isak’s accumulated more knowledge about him than he first realised.

Even likes art, in the broad sense of the word. Music, painting, drawing, film, he enjoys it all. He likes pretentious movies to the point where Isak can safely call him a film snob, he sings stupid pop songs all the fucking time. And his drawings are kind of amazing. Not that Isak is going to compliment him on them, he probably doesn’t need another ego boost.

Even is bipolar, but doesn’t let that define him – which Isak envies. He has it under control – mostly – although Isak is pretty sure something big happened a few years back. Even has a lot of friends, a best friend called Mikael and a girlfriend called Julie whom Isak has not met yet.

And Even’s parents are staring at him.

His brain freezes, his hand suspended mid-air, clutching a packet of crisps. He’s been scanning Even’s parents’ articles for the past few minutes – he’s probably greeted them dully – without even realising it.

He gapes dumbly, like a fish out of water for a few seconds. They must think him the rudest cashier – granted, he kind of is – or the dumbest fuck ever.

Even’s mother is the first one to break the silence.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hum. Hi. Mrs. and Mrs. Bech Naesheim.” he greets back, stumbling over the words.

His hands are still not moving, items being brought before him by the conveyor piling up dangerously.

They’re both smiling at him – almost indulgently.

“We didn’t know you were working here. How are you?”

He catches himself when more articles are now balancing precariously and he sees Mr. Bech Naeshim waiting with a mostly empty cart. He starts scanning again, as fast as he can.

“Errr… Good. Good. I’m… Good. Yeah.”

Well, that sounded convincing.

“And yourself?”

He was never really taught proper manners, but he was smart enough to at least acquire them on his own. Mrs. Bech Naeshim’s smile turns kinder.

“We’re very good, thank you. Even never mentioned you worked here. It must be quite a stressful job.”

He feels himself flushing and hopes they don’t realise how much this actually applies to him.

“Oh, it’s fine really. It’s just...”

But the right words don’t come.

“You know.” he finishes lamely.

As he’s putting groceries in the cart, Even’s dad smiles at him as well.

“Even told us about how hard you’ve been studying. Your parents must be very proud to have such a hard working son. Are you spending Christmas with your family?”

The punch might be imaginary, but it does knock the wind out of him. His lungs stop working for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to send him in a spiral of anxiety. He covers it quickly though, and before Even’s parents have time to notice anything wrong, his walls are up again.

Still, he simply nods in silent, not trusting his voice, and not willing to lie or worse – tell the truth. He doesn’t miss the quick look they exchange but decided to ignore it in favour of scanning barcodes more efficiently. It looks like they’re going to have the nicest Christmas dinner. The food that pass in his hand is enough to have him salivating.

He knows Even is going to spend a great Christmas with his parents, and he can’t help the envy at the amazing meal he’ll get to enjoy. Although he shouldn’t complain. Eskild and Linn are cooking a nice meal themselves for the evening of the 25th. Eskild has waved off his offer to help and simply sent him a very meaningful look.

Yeah, he knows. Get through the rest of the day, and Christmas Eve first.

That means finding the last two presents, working all day on the 24th and doing that thing he’s tried not to think about for the past few days. But of course, Even’s parents had to mention it.

_Christmas with your family._

Which means, Christmas with his mum, for the first time in years. The thought alone is enough to twist his stomach into painful knots, make his heart beat faster and his hands feel clammy. It shouldn’t, he knows. It’s so stupid. Being afraid of one evening with his mother, when he’s already spent a few others. But it’s Christmas, and he doesn’t have a gift for her yet, despite having one for everyone else – Even notwithstanding.

He’s avoided her calls all week, which only serves to increase his guilt until the point where he eventually sent her a text two days ago to confirm that he will indeed be there tomorrow at 8 p.m. He’s offered to cook obviously, mostly because her own cooking skills are limited. It means more spending money – although he’s keeping things simple – and reheating everything tomorrow evening. But that’s fine. He tells himself that everything will be over in a couple of days. Then he can lock himself up in his room whenever he’s not at work, and forget the outside world exists.

He’s pulled out of his train of thoughts by the beeping of his register and realises Even’s parents are still talking to him. Or at him. He pushes the uncertainty and anxiety down, offers them his most professional smile and hands Even’s mother her receipt. He then wishes them a Merry Christmas – although there sure is nothing fucking merry about it – in his most polite and smooth voice.

The uncertainty and sympathy in their own smiles make him want to throw up. It looks like Even’s mother is going to hug him again and he feels his posture go rigid. She seems to think better of it, thankfully, and they simply bid him good bye and a very merry Christmas, before exiting the supermarket.

His sigh of relief is very, very real.

Two days to go.

*

A delicious smells still floats in the apartment when Even wakes up, on the morning of the 24th. He’s immediately struck by the image of his flatmate spending most of the previous evening cooking what he described as his Christmas Eve dinner.

By the time he trudges sleepily in the kitchen, yawning very loudly, Isak has already left for work. It’s still early in the morning, the streets outside are painted in dark blue with dim spots of golden hues. He has a shift at KB until 1 p.m. after which he’ll meet up with his parents to spend the afternoon in town.

He sends a brief good morning text to Julie and checks his social media for posts from his friends. Mikael and Elias have uploaded a short Hei Brikesby vlog. Sometimes he can’t believe they’re still doing that.

Eskild has uploaded yet another selfie of himself and his boyfriend making cute faces at the camera.

Sitting on one of the stool, slowly chewing on his cereal, he scrolls down on his phone while his brain is gradually waking up.

Christmas Eve is always kind of a weird day for him. He loves Christmas, he really does. It brings a warm and welcome sense of nostalgia and comfort, following the little traditions they’ve set over the years. Going to the Christmas market, watching Christmas movies, dancing and singing, eating delicious food, reading Christmas stories, waking up early in the morning and opening gifts. Seeing the smiles on his parents’ faces. It’s bubble of time outside of time. A day he sometimes wishes would never end because reality seems insurmountable when it does.

Christmas is like the few seconds between a dream and waking up. Not quite here, but not there yet.

Funny how it somehow applies to his life.

The café is buzzing with excitement and he can barely contain his own as he greets Julie with a wide grin and a peck on the lips. She’s taken a couple of hours off work just to spend some time with him before she leaves Oslo for the next few days.

When she sits next to the window, looking at life happening in the streets outside, then at him with bright, gentle eyes, he feels his heart getting to big for his chest.

He gets her hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and small muffin – on the house. She puts a hand on his as he sets it on the table.

“You look happy this morning” she says.

“You’re here. It makes me happy” he simply answers.

Her smile gets impossibly wider.

She stays a bit longer and they manage to talk a little. He goes from the counter to her table between two customers, more dancing than walking. He doesn’t know if he’s feeding off the general excitement around him or the other way round, but he just can’t stop smiling.

He’s put his favourite playlist of pop songs and hums not quite loudly to the words of_ 5 fine frøkner._ His coworkers, bless them, are used to his antics by now, and just shake their heads with a smile. Working at KB can be shit sometimes, but they’re a team and they all have each other’s backs. He’s been here the longest by now, and it almost feels like a second home sometimes.

He knows he’ll always remember this time of his life fondly, when he moves on from KB to a proper job. He’ll sit in his classroom, look at his kids, and recall the good old days when he was working behind a counter, serving grumpy early customers, excited students, rushed workers and all the in-betweens.

He’ll remember meeting Julie here for the first time. He’ll remember discussing living arrangements with Isak, back when he was little more than a stranger.

It’s different, but he loves this. Being able to think about the future, to project himself in the next 5 or 10 years. It still feels fresh, like he’s getting used to a new tastes that he finds himself enjoying more and more.

And maybe it’s the Christmas thing.

There was a time, not so long ago, when all around him was darkness. Real, sharp, almost tangible darkness. A shadow following him like his own, a familiar ghost trapping in the stillness of paused present. Stuck in the never-ending loop of repetition and dullness.

There are still moments. Small hiccups, like jumps on an old vinyl disc when everything suddenly seems fragile, like revealing the true nature of ephemeral happiness. There’s Isak of course, and Mikael. He wishes he’d make more progress on this part of his life.

But the opening is always there, light still within his grasp. And overall, he’s happy. He’s told his therapist that much, last time he saw her, and she did look genuinely happy for him. Which is a lot.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

*

His parents enter the café in a flurry of wind and snow just as he’s finishing his shift. His dad is wearing that huge coat that makes him look like a bit like the Michelin man. This coat is probably one of the ugliest things he owns but despite Even and his mum’s pleading, he still refuses to part with it. And if there is one thing that Even has inherited by his dad, besides the gangly limbs, it’s his stubbornness.

Most people would probably be embarrassed at having their parents meet them at their workplace, but he isn’t. Even loves his parents more than anything, and he’s never cared much about others’ opinions. His parents are his rock. And it probably shows, as they stand there, hugging each other in the middle of KB.

“Ready to go, baby?” asks his mother after she kisses his cheek.

“Always.”

He bids his colleagues goodbye and a Merry Christmas, with a quick hug from Kat, before stepping out in the cold winter weather with his parents on either side of him.

They fall in step together as they slowly make their way to Karl Johan street. The sun is already fairly low and most Christmas lights are on, tinting the snow covered streets with soft gold, blue and red. The city is wrapped in cold, cottony blanket of white, muffling sounds and shapes alike.

Still, there is a strange energy buzzing around them as they finally make it to the Christmas market. He loves doing that with his parents, all the touristy stuff. Hopping from one shop to the next, looking at all the handcrafted toys and decorations, going to _Glasmagasinet _and let himself be awed the same way he used to be when he was a child, drinking _gl__ø__gg_ and eating Belgium waffles.

They stroll leisurely the various aisles, let themselves get carried by the various smells until they all decide to go for _ribbe sandwiches_.

They queue behind two tall men, barely older than himself, who look like they’re trying to argue as quietly as possible. He thinks they might be French. At least one of them is, if his accent his anything to go by. He’s got dark curls peaking under a thick black beanie and is rolling his eyes at his friend – possibly boyfriend – in a way that strongly reminds him of Isak. The other one is talking with a weird accent Even has never heard.

His parents don’t seem to have noticed however, lost in their own discussion as they are. He tries to listen and even manages to pick out a couple of words he knows, but really has no idea what the argument is about.

Suddenly, as they reach the counter, the guy with the strange accent turns around. Most of his face is hidden by a thick scarf, but Even can see high cheekbones are covered with very light freckles, strands of long blond hair falling in front of clear green eyes. As they land on him, the guy’s eyes widen slightly. He quickly turns away to mutter something at his companion before turning back to Even, his grin growing bigger.

“Hey, sorry, do you speak English?” he asks, r’s rolling in a pleasant lilt.

Even nods.

“Hum, yeah.”

“Great! We kind of need help, man.”

“We don’t.” comes a muffled grunt from the dark haired guy, still facing away.

“We’re lost” states blond guy, ignoring him.

“We’re _not_.”

“We’re looking at things to do tonight, like Christmas things. And staying at the hotel does not qualify. Do you have any tips?”

While the other guy gets the orders – _ribbe sandwiches _as well – Even tells the guy – who introduces himself as Liam with a strong shake of hands – about the _Winter Park, Spikersuppa, Damstredet, Telthusbakken,_ all the things he knows tourists enjoy. Liam nods his head excitedly and explains they’re staying in the city for a couple of days before heading north.

Finally, the other guy turns around and hands his friend his sandwich. His steely grey eyes zero in on Even, the corners of his mouths turned down in a sulky scowl.

“Don’t pay attention to Loup, that’s actually his happy face.”

He actually silently mouths _resting bitch-face_. Even barely holds back a snort.

“We both know you really just want to go get drunk and hit on Norwegian guys.” Eli grunts.

Liam shrugs unashamedly and winks at Even.

“Can’t blame me.”

Even feels his cheeks grow warm at the look he gets. He’s drawn by them. Liam’s accent is a harmonious music to his ears while Loup’s intense gaze holds something he can’t quite identify. There an infinitesimal crack in Liam’s smiling expression as he hesitates a micro-second when he introduces them as high-school friend.

They talk a bit more while his parents order for him – he’s caught them looking with the hint of a smile. He learns that Loup is definitely French and that they’re not together. In fact, he’s not sure they’re even friends. There’s a tension between them that he hasn’t noticed before. But they’re both pleasant to him, even Loup despite his aloofness.

A light hand on his shoulders brings him back to the present. His new friends shake his hand and thank him for his advice, wish him a Merry Christmas and walk away. He thinks he hears them start arguing again.

“Friends from Uni?” asks his dad.

He shakes his head.

“Never seen them before in my life.”

They go join his mother and eat their sandwiches.

A few hours later, as the three of them slowly fall asleep on the couch in their living room, stomachs full and content spirits, muted TV silently playing an old black and white film, he vaguely wonders why he almost sees his roommate’s face instead of Loup’s.

*

There are two things Isak is aware of.

First, if he walks any slower, he’ll just fully stop.

Second, he feels so nauseous he might throw up right here and now.

There are a dozens of excuses running in his head, and he thinks the only reason he hasn’t texted his mother I can’t is because his phone is in his pockets and his hands are too busy holding bags.

Other thing he’s aware of: how fucked up it is for him to be so terrified of spending Christmas Eve with his mother. He should be happy, he knows he should. Everyone says it. Well, not really. But they’re strongly hinting at it. And by everyone, he means Eskild, really. Linn hasn’t said anything – she’s the only who knows how hard it is, she’s the only one who understands.

As for the others, let’s just say that he has over a dozen unanswered messages on his phone, and leave it at that.

He saw his mother two months ago, and it was fine. A bit awkward, sure, but fine. They call each other sometimes, or she calls. And they talk – she talks – about mundane things, safe topics. Life at the apartment, uni, work, her work, her life at the apartment, her French class, her botany class. Some of those topics don’t feel so safe any more, but he puts it down to his ability to screw up even the simplest and easiest things.

Seeing his mother tonight, spending the whole night and Christmas morning at her apartment is something entirely – and terrifyingly – different altogether.

As he gets out of the train station, the brown slush that is soaking his feet reminds him he needs actual winter shoes. His old trainers are so threadbare they barely qualify as glorified socks. And considering the fact that his socks have holes in them, it’s not saying much.

By the time he gets to the apartment complex, he can’t feel his feet and fingers any more, and he knows they’re going to hurt so very much when he warms them up. The building is relatively. It’s one of those modern constructions popping up around the city in an effort to modernize old abandoned areas. It’s pretty nice, quiet too. There are shops around and a little park, which is perfect for his mum.

He doesn’t know if she’s happy, doesn’t think if it’s possible for her to ever really be happy again, after having all of her family abandon her, but she likes it there, at least. And because guilt is a powerful thing, Isak is here too.

The first thing he notices when his mother opens the door, is that she’s cut her hair. It’s much shorter than usual and frames her too thin face quite nicely. There’s a hint of dark circles under the eyes – he has to wonder if he’s inherited that from her – but she looks good. Really good. His heart gives a painful lurch and suddenly, all he wants to do is wrap his warms around her, and feel hers around him.

He just stands stupidly in the entrance, hands full of bags, wondering what she sees when she looks at him. Does she still see the coward? The ungrateful son who couldn’t handle her illness and ran away, let her down like the rest of their so-called family? Does she see the happy little boy he used to be, and the disappointingly half-broken adult he’s become?

Her smile is fragile, like she’s afraid a big, genuine one will send him running away again. It might.

It takes him a few seconds to finally let the bags down on the floor and go for an awkward hug. He kisses her cheek with a “_hi mum”_.

She’s smaller than him – not that much – but she feels taller than usual as her arms wound up around his shoulders.

“Hi baby.” she whispers.

They stay like this for a few minutes, although it feels shorter. Her perfume, delicate and light, takes him back to days long forgotten. Days of laughter and smiles. Of bouncing up and down on her knees, of stick figure drawings on the fridge.

Her warmth is gentle voice saying _“welcome home”_. All doubts fly from his mind. He clings to her, desperate, terrified, happy.

After they let go, she helps him take the bags to the kitchen. There’s a lot of plants everywhere, cushions of different colours, thick looking carpets, arts on the walls. There’s a homey feeling he hasn’t experienced in his own apartment.

He’s the one to blame for that, of course. He hasn’t made an effort to decorate, despite Even suggesting that he can. Even has brought a couple of pictures, cushions and small ornaments, to try and give their place some personality. Isak doesn’t see the point. It’s not like he’s going to spend all that much time there anyway.

They settle on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate each and Isak takes the time to look around some more.

His mother doesn’t own a television set. The last one they had got broken during one of her worst episodes. Instead, there’s a huge bookshelf taking up two walls, overcrowded with so many books that she could probably open a small library.

And in one corner, a Christmas tree. Mostly decorated with white and gold, it might be one of the most beautiful trees Isak’s ever seen. Even more beautiful than the one his flatmate insisted they have. It’s illuminated with small stars and snowflakes, angel hair and feather like tinsel hanging gracefully off the branches. Half of the decoration looks handmade, and there’s an angel, looking almost ready to fly on the top of the tree. He stands to look at it more closely, almost reaches for it.

“It reminded me of you.” she says behind him in a small whisper.

No words come out of his mouth. That word. He feels his eyes start to prickle and has to blink several times. He keeps his back turned to her.

“I know you hate it when I call you that. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

The crack in her voice is too much to bear. A treacherous tear slowly escapes his eye and rolls down his cheek.

She’s right. How hated that word. That fucking word. Said in a litany of prayers, tainted by the delusions of illness, poisoning their relationship, slowly destroying his own sense of worth. He’d spiralled out of control just as she had tried to pull him closer to her, further from really.

But now. But now.

He wants to hope, wants to hold on to that part of her that never left, that has fought to stay on the surface, to love him despite himself, despite herself too.

To be her angel again, not a religious figure, but something earthly, comforting. A son.

He wishes he knew how to do that.

A second tear rolls down in silence. A sniffle.

Her hands slip into his.

They avoid discussing heavy issues and stick to safe, familiar topics, although he doesn’t miss the concern in her eyes when she looks at him. He reassures her as best he can, which means lying. Yes, he sleeps and eats well. Yes, his studies are going great. Yes, things are good with Even.

He doesn’t want to ruin their evening by increasing her obvious worry about him so he doesn’t tell her he barely gets more than a couple of hours of sleep every night, that he’s been thinking of giving up his studies for months now, that his anxiety is so high he can’t face his friends over a one-sided stupid fight, that he hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks.

She thankfully doesn’t comment on his weight loss, his shabby clothes, too long hair. She lies and tell him he’s beautiful. He lies some more and pretends to believe her, just for a night.

He just listens as she tells him about the friends she made at her botany class and the stories from her French penpal. He can’t help but laugh a little at her idea of writing actual letters that take a few days to travel across Europe. She shows him the last one she got, along with a postcard of Normandy and small drawings.

It reminds him of the drawings he and Even communicate with.

She follows him to kitchen as he goes to get the meal ready. She tunes the radio to Christmas songs and softly sings as she takes out the drinks – non alcoholic only – and the salad. It’s all so painfully familiar, her voice echoing in his mind, waking up flashes of past Christmases as a family.

He’s not sure they still are a family but hopes that they might be again, at some point. Just the two of them. She’s everything. Always has been.

His eyes start prickling again, he blames it on the onion he’s cutting.

He briefly wonders about Lea and his dad. Wonders if they think about him and his mum, if they remember them. Wonders if they have regrets, too.

He discreetly wipes the lone tear before it makes its way down his cheek. The gentle hand on the side of his face tells him there’s no point, his mother knows.

“Oh!” she suddenly stops.

She goes to the radio and turns up the volume.

“It’s our song.”

_O __Helga Natt_ is playing. It’s not really their song _per se_. She just really loves it and loves it even more when he sings it to her. When she found out – quite by accident – that he could somewhat sing, she’d beg him to humour her with her favourite songs.

He’s never understood her obsession with his singing, he doesn’t really have a nice voice. If anyone were to ask him, he’d objectively describe it as passable. But his mother treats it like it’s the most incredible sound she’s ever heard.

Tries as he might, he knows he’s not getting out of singing tonight, which doesn’t mean he’s going to give up easily. He ducks his head shyly and tries to ignore her pleading eyes. Not to be deterred, she starts mouthing the words, louder and louder.

With a roll of eyes, he relents, hesitantly clearing his throat.

_Folk, fall nu neder, och hälsa glatt din frihet. _

From the corner of his eye, he sees her staring at him, something in her expression makes his chest tighten. He pushes on and forces himself to get lost in the words.

_Från himlen bragte frälsaren oss friden,  
för oss han nedsteg i sin stilla grav. _

When the song is finally – thankfully – over, he stops and lets the welcome silence blanket him. His mother gazes at him for the longest time, before moving closer and kissing his forehead with feather-like softness.

Later, after they’ve eaten and he’s muttered a timid “thank you” to the many compliments she gave him for his cooking, they curl up on the comfy couch, music playing, barely a murmur in the background. While she tells him stories about his childhood and her own, he hugs the fluffiest cushion he’s ever seen, big left toe poking out of his sock, his head in his mother’s lap as she treads fingers through his curls, and falls asleep to the sound of her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was emotionally draining to write, and there is so much I could say about it.
> 
> The first thing I'll say is, I know it's taken me a long time to upload it. Believe or not, it was actually going to be even longer than it is. But long chapters suck to edit and proof read, and most importantly, I couldn't not end on that scene between Isak and his mother. It would have lessened the emotional impact, no matter how I'm sure people would have loved what comes next.
> 
> Still, I was reluctant to split that chapter more than it already is (since chap 10 was originally going to be part of it) for the simple reason that it fucks up my whole chapter numbers system. Also, it means that the next one will be much shorter.
> 
> So, about the story itself: we finally meet Julie. I hope you guys like her, she's a genuinely good person and I want her and Even to be happy (even if they might not stay together forever).   
I wanted more Isak and Even's parents interaction, so there you go.  
I also chose to put that scene between Even and two original characters that I've been writing for years. I originally thought about putting Lucas & Eliott from Skam France, but it didn't seem right. My plan was to have Even meet Liam and Loup later in the story but I figured why not introduce them briefly here. 
> 
> **As usual, a big thank you to everyone who has read, kudo'd, commented on this story. It means everything. Next chap will be out shortly, but in the meantime, I hope you guys had a nice Christmas.**


	12. Chapter 12

For the first time in a while, Even is actually glad to be back to his silent apartment.

He’s still reeling from the amazing time he’s just had with his family. Christmas Eve with his parents was nothing short of magical. Coming back from the Christmas market, cooking dinner together, talking for hours on end, dancing ridiculously to kitschy songs, settling on the couch to watch his favourite old Christmas movies. He wishes he could replay that day over and over again.

Christmas day itself was a whole different affair, as he guessed it would be. His grandma came to visit them- as she’s been doing for the past 5 years since she lost her husband – and it was laugh. It always is. She’s energetic in ways that keep surprising him and so opinionated that he’s seen rocks change their minds faster than her. And she loves arguing, about anything.

He admits he loves getting into the most ridiculous arguments with her (this morning was about clothes for pets) but it does get tiring, and after his long and busy day on Christmas Eve, Even has been running lower on energy than usual.

So after they exchanged gifts and hugs and kisses, after they inhaled copious amount of delicious food, he was more than happy to escape to a more quiet place.

For once, he’s happy to have the apartment to himself. Isak is spending Christmas with his family – he doesn’t know if it means Eskild and Linn or his actual parents – and is not supposed to come home until tomorrow.

So he takes his sweet time putting all his gifts in his room. He rearranges the books on his shelves to accommodate the new ones, makes some space in his wardrobe for his new clothes and calls Julie.

He then decides to make himself some tea which he sips lazily while lounging in the living room, some foreign TV show playing in the background. The sky is clear blue outside, a rare occurrence. The light bathes the spacious room, making the decoration in the Christmas tree glint almost blindingly.

As his eyes fall on the shining silver snowflake, a piece of conversation he had with his parents yesterday pops up in his mind.

While they were eating dessert, his mother suddenly mentioned seeing Isak at the supermarket.

_That poor dear looks exhausted. I had half a mind take him home with us._

The mere idea had sounded entirely too absurd at the time, and he’d laughed imagining Isak’s reaction at being kidnapped by his mother. But now, for the first time in days, he has time to think about his flatmate.

Julie didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. But hearing it from someone who’s never even met Isak gave him pause. Thinking back to the last two weeks, it’s clear there is something going on beyond just the stress of exams. At least, he’s pretty sure the sleeping issue predates that.

He should follow Julie’s advice and let Isak come to him, if he needs, or wants to. He knows he should. He and Isak are only sharing an apartment, after all. Except for a few favours here and there and the occasional afternoon spent hanging out in front of the TV, there have had very limited interaction and Isak has turned out every offer of friendship he’s made thus far, consciously or not.

A non negligible part of him wants to stop caring and ignore the situation. Isak is an adult and can take care of himself. And if he doesn’t want to be friends with him, then so be it. Even is man enough to handle rejection. Thing is, he’s not good at ignoring stuff.

Even needs stability above all, and he’s ready to admit that the situation with Isak has been stressing him out more than he’s let on to his friends. He cares too much, probably, about everything and everyone. And no matter how much Isak has been getting him down, he can’t help it. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of him that cares about his flatmate.

On the other hand, he really has no clue on what to do, and odds are Isak is not coming to talk to him about whatever’s wrong.

There are five people he could go to for information, and none of them will talk to him.

Sana scares him a little, if he’s honest. And even though she probably has information that could help him, he doesn’t see himself asking her. Not that she would tell him anything, anyway. She’s a firm believer in people working out their issues by themselves.

He doesn’t know Jonas well enough to ask him either, and he doesn’t think he’d say anything about his best friend’s private life.

That leaves Linn and Eskild. Out of the two of them, he feels more confident about getting answers from Eskild but he’s not convinced that the man will simply divulge what he knows about Isak, no matter how well the hit it off when they had dinner all together.

He’s pretty much back to square one, then. Unless.

_Unless._

He finds Eskild’s number and calls him.

*

It’s almost five in the afternoon when Isak comes home on the 26th.

The sun has long set, he’s put quiet music on, some nice movie soundtrack he finds soothing. It’s more to calm his own nerves than anything. He’s been jittery all day, and a good part of yesterday as well and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s feeling manic. But he’s not. He’s just excited, and determined. Ever since that idea popped in his head, his mind has been solely focus on his plan. On Julie’s words.

_Let him know you’re here for him._

Isak may be a stubborn grumpy little gremlin, but no one can resist Even when he’s the man with the plan.

And yeah, Eskild’s enthusiastic squeals on the phone have definitely boosted his confidence. They had quite a long and intense discussion and he thinks he’s scored a lot of points with the guy. He’s not proud about having an ulterior motive and lying – even by omission – but he firmly believes that he’s ultimately doing this to help Isak.

His morning was spent roaming the city, calling his parents for advice, going from shop to shop, trying to find the answer to the one question that’s been plaguing his mind ever since he came up with the idea: what kind of gift should he get Isak?

This is where his limited knowledge of his flatmate gets problematic. He knows a few things, his love of science being the most obvious one. He knows Isak goes to the swimming pool regularly, if the smell of chlorine that follows him is anything to go about, and he plays on their old Wii from time to time. But that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t know what kind of music he listens to, what kind of books he reads – besides the big science ones he seems weirdly fond of.

What do you buy for someone who hates Christmas and seems ignore everything that doesn’t have the word “physics” or “science” or “stupidly complicated shit” in its title?

In the end, he settles for a nice pair of warm dark green gloves. He hates himself a little bit for being so unoriginal, but he’s noticed the one Isak does own is falling apart. He’s seen his flatmate come home from riding his bike, fingers red and painful looking from the cold outside.

He may not be able to solve everything and get Isak back to the pleasant guy he was when they first moved in together, but maybe he can warm his hands and prevent him from hurting too much.

He’s still deeply absorbed by the second half of his plan when the apartment door opens and a cold and tired looking Isak steps in. He freezes for half a second, mouth parted, staring at him. His cheeks are bright from the icy wind outside and his eyes shine in the dim glow of the living room.

“Oh. I thought you...” he cuts himself off, sniffling a bit.

“Hey” says Even with a smile. “Good to see you.”

“Hum. Yeah, you too.”

Isak shuffles a bit and finally takes of his shoes and coat, sets the bags on the floor. He’s wearing a nice dark blue jumper Even’s never seen on him.

“Christmas present?” he asks, nodding at the beautiful looking piece of clothing.

The question seems to take Isak off-guard and he fumbles a bit.

“Hum. Yeah. My mum. She went a bit… Yeah.”

“Looks good.” Even simply says with another smile, before turning back to the task at hand.

And it does look good. It seems that most of the clothes Isak owns are at least a few years old, and it’s starting to show. So this is a nice change.

He feels more than he sees Isak putting away his stuff, going to his room and coming back, pausing to look at him. Things have been uneasy between them and it looks like his flatmate is experiencing the full force of it.

“Hum. Did you… Have a nice Christmas?” comes the hesitant question.

He turns his attention from the cutting board to the man standing in the middle of the apartment. Isak looks like doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Yeah, actually. It was very nice. Just me and my parents mostly. We just enjoyed a quiet evening, you know? And then my gran visited us yesterday, which was… Yeah.” he lets out a small chuckle.

Isak nods in understanding.

“Yeah. That’s… cool. That’s good.”

“It was, thanks. What about you?”

The silence that ensues make him wonder if he didn’t just put his foot in his mouth. Isak hesitates before coming to sit a the kitchen island. He lets out a bone weary sigh.

“It was… good. Yeah. Good.”

Even stares at him for longer than necessary probably, but doesn’t prod, remembering Julie’s words. There’s something in Isak’s posture that screams exhaustion and he wonders what happened. He doesn’t look sad or stressed though. Just tired.

“Hey, hum, I was thinking. Do you want to have dinner with me tonight? My mum gave me this recipe and figured we could give it a try?”

That seems to pull Isak from whatever train of thoughts was carrying him far away. He looks around him, at all the plates and pots cluttering the kitchen counters. There’s a little frown on his face and questions in his eyes. For a second, it looks like he’s going to decline but he eventually stands up.

“Can I help?”

“Of course.”

He hands him more vegetables to chop while he’s finishing with the meat. Isak accepts wordlessly and sets to work, peeling and chopping with efficiency and precision. Which reminds him.

“Did your parents like what you cooked the other day?”

The younger man falters a bit.

“Hum, yeah. Yeah.”

Silence falls again for a short moment. The sound of knives hitting wood the only one in the apartment. His own breathing painfully loud in his ears.

“I mean. She did.” say Isak eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

Even says nothing, forces himself to focus on the food, tries not to react.

“It’s just me and my mum. Just the two of us. And...”

With his back turned, he can’t actually see Isak, but the picture in his head is clear. He imagines him standing stiffly, gaze resolutely down, forcing slow and deliberate movements, pushing the words out, painful and raw.

“It’s the first time we celebrated Christmas together since… The first time in years. So. Yeah. It was… Yeah.”

His voice cracks a little.

He finally turns to him. Not completely, just enough for Isak to know, to understand. The image that greets him is exactly the one he had in mind. Back straight, shoulders tense, Isak is resolutely keeping his eyes on the food down in front of him.

He chooses his own words carefully.

“She must have been very happy to see you, then. I’m glad you two had a good Christmas.”

Isak looks up briefly and their eyes meet. A small uncertain smile answering his own gentle one.

“Thanks.”

And hour later, the two of them are eating quietly, sitting on the couch, closer than they’ve ever been before. Isak lets out an appreciative moan.

“This is really, really good.”

A small chuckle escapes Even. He really looks like an overgrown teenager, plate on his lap, cheeks bulging like those of a squirrel.

“Yeah.”

Once they’re both done, he’s pleasantly surprised that his roommate doesn’t seem in any rush to leave and hide in his room. Instead, Isak is sitting crossed legged, a warm cup of tea in his hand, looking pensively at the Christmas tree. The silence that stretches between them is not altogether uncomfortable. Still, he’s both relieved and surprised when Isak starts to speak quietly.

“I usually really hate Christmas, you know?”

“Oh? Really?” says Even with exaggerated surprise.

He gets an eye roll for that.

“I mean… It’s not… The best time of the year. And I’ve been having a shit time lately.”

He’s pretty sure that it’s right there, in the top five of understatements of the year, but doesn’t say anything. He knows first hand how difficult it is to admit when things get difficult. He’s also aware of how good he is at downplaying things as well.

“But I guess… This one wasn’t so bad. I was so terrified of spending it with my mum that… I don’t know.”

“But your mum loves you, doesn’t she?”

Isak nods slowly.

“She does. I’ve never doubted that. It’s just… really complicated.”

He sighs. It looks like he’s going to say more but thinks better of it, and Even doesn’t know if he should subtly push for more. Doesn’t want Isak to feel uncomfortable, but is afraid that this might be his only shot.

“I’m just… I’m not...”

Isak is obviously struggling to chose his words, to form sentences that fit his thoughts. He knows that too well, often faced with the conclusion that words don’t do justice to thoughts.

“I guess I’m just not a very good son.”

It takes him a lot of self control not to gape at his roommate swallowing thickly and averting his eyes. Before he has time to consciously think about his action, he puts a hand on Isak’s leg.

“I’m sure you’re an amazing son, Isak.”

Green eyes meet his and stare unflinchingly for a few seconds. He forces himself to hold his gaze, prove that he means every word. He does. He’s witnessed Isak’s bad side a couple of times now, but he’s also seen him being kind and gentle quite a few times as well, to him especially.

He gives the leg a gentle squeeze, trying to convey his support.

Isak opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. In the end, he settles for a quiet “thank you”.

They stay like this for a few minutes, until he suddenly remembers.

“Oh. I forgot. I got you something.”

He quickly gets up to get the present in question from his room and hands it to his bewildered looking flatmate. Isak just stares at the package in his hands like it’s a bomb. Or a newborn child. Jury’s still out on that one.

“It’s not much, really. But… I don’t know.”

Isak’s eyes go from his own to the present in his hands and his Adam’s apple bobs a few time.

“You didn’t have to...”

He shrugs.

“I wanted to. Open it. You might hate it, you know.”

Another roll of eyes, but no retort. He counts it as a win. Isak carefully unwraps the bright red and green paper. In this instant, Even wishes he had a camera to capture all the little details of the younger man’s face as the muscles in his jaw tense and relax and his whole face transforms in an expression of surprise.

His nostrils flare a tiny bit, his eyes widen, his mouth parts open, a tiny wrinkle appears just above his nose. He holds the gloves in his hands, but doesn’t say a word.

“I just… You looked like you needed new ones, so I figured...”

Once again, Isak’s gaze travels from the gift to him. He nods mutely.

“This is amazing.” He whispers. “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

The happiness and earnest expression is so genuine that Even almost feels himself flushing. But Isak surprises him by getting up from the couch. Ten seconds later, he pushes a wrapped package in his lap.

“This is shit, compared to what you just gave me, but...”

It’s Even’s turn to be rendered speechless. He wants to say that he didn’t expect Isak to get him anything at all in the first place, because he really didn’t. And while he’s genuinely happy at his flatmate’s pleased reaction to his gift, he knows his original motivation for it is not completely disinterested. He wants to say “thank you”, he wants to say so many things. Hell, he thinks he might want to hug the guy.

“Just open it, would you? You’re making me nervous as fuck.”

He doesn’t miss the eye roll he gets for taking the longest time to unwrap the object with almost utter reverence. It’s heavy and rectangular. If he were to guess, he’d say it’s a book.

He’d be wrong of course.

It’s a sketchpad. But not just any sketchpad. His fingers gently caress the thick leather cover. It’s been engraved with drawings of waves and clouds, and it’s simply beautiful. The paper is thick and grainy and really, really high quality. This thing must have cost a small fortune.

He’s at a loss for words. He’s staring at Isak, not able to say anything. His brain is coming up blank, he’s finally short-circuited. Isak seems to misunderstand his reaction thought.

“I know it’s not… great. I mean. It fell in a puddle of rain apparently… So a part of the back looks dodgy. And the guy had to tear off a couple of pages. He couldn’t find anyone to buy it, so… I don’t know shit about that stuff, but he said it’s very high quality. And your drawings are amazing. So I thought maybe...”

He gives Isak’s leg another squeeze.

“I love it. Thank you so much, Isak. This is incredible. Thank you.”

That effectively shuts him up.

“Oh. It’s… Nothing, really.” he mutters, clearing his throat.

He quickly removes his hand again, remembers how uncomfortable the guy generally is with physical contact. But he’s pretty sure he’s made his point across. Isak’s cheeks are tinged with red, but he looks much more relaxed now.

He gives him a warm smile.

“So, how was your Christmas with Eskild and Linn?”

Isak answers with a small chuckle.

“It was fine. Good, really. I mean, Eskild, you know. He always goes overboard.”

He takes out his phone and shows him a picture of Eskild posing in front of what looks like a giant ball of light disguised as a Christmas tree. There are so many decorations around that his eyes hurt a little just by staring at the picture.

“Wait, is that a penis in the Christmas tree?”

Isak snickers.

“Yeah. Kind of an old joke. That’s Eskild for you, he has no shame.”

As he recounts the shenanigans of his two formers roommates, Isak’s lips stretch into a small, soft smile.

“He had us dance, sing karaoke, eat tons of greasy food...”

He pats his belly.

“Between that and tonight’s dinner, I feel like I’ve eaten more than enough for the rest of the week.”

Considering how much weight Isak seems to have lost, it can’t be a bad thing. Even feels a sudden wave of affection toward Linn and Eskild for being such a strong support.

“So, you made it sound like your gran visiting was something else?”

*

It’s almost four in the morning, and Isak can’t sleep. Wrapped in his thick and warm duvet, he replays the last two days over and over again in his mind.

He can almost feel his mother’s arms around him again, feel her hair tickling his face, smell her perfume. Singing to her in Swedish, seeing her reaction at his gifts. She loved the book about France, but her reaction when he’d handed her the frame was etched in his memory and would probably stay unaltered for many years.

She’d understood the gift immediately, as he knew she would. Silent tears rolling down her cheeks, she’d held him as strong as she could, afraid to let him go. One hand in his hair, the other one on his heart she’d whispered that there was nothing to forgive, that she never stopped loving him, and never would. Of course he hadn’t found enough strength to voice how much he loved her, but he thinks she knows now.

He recalls the quiet morning that followed, bathing in the shy grey light, sipping tea, talking inconsequential matters, enjoying the calm and triviality, basking in her warm presence. For a few hours, he got his mother back.

And the rest of the day with Linn and Eskild. His big brother and big sister.

His saviours.

The only ones who can make him smile even when things get hard. Lounging the whole day on the couch, watching stupid movies with Eskild’s running commentary, Isak dozing on Linn’s lap. Exchanging gifts, hugging them.

And coming home to Even.

Even who’s been so warm, so kind and attentive despite Isak’s prickly behaviour. Making dinner together, having an actual conversation, reminded him of how good things can be if he makes an actual effort.

And the strange part is how effortless it felt.

Reaching almost blindly toward his bed table, he grasps his new gloves, enjoying the warm fabric in his hands.

Even talks with his whole body, and Isak has never noticed that before today. His hands flail around a bit, face alive, openly displaying every nuanced expression between happy and excited. He envies that about him, his bravery. He wishes he was a little more like him, unafraid to show how he feels, sharing his feelings for the whole word to see.

Even’s reaction at his gift pulled something in him, although he doesn’t quite know what. The sincerity of his surprise and happiness is something he should have expected from his roommate, but didn’t.

As he stares at the dark and blank ceiling above him, a minuscule flame alights in the deepest part of his core as the hint of something he thought he’d lost long ago blossoms: hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed celebrating with your friends and family.
> 
> New year has yet to come for Isak and Even in this story - it will, soon - but at least we're finally wrapping up Christmas. I hope you all enjoy this chapter which is all about Isak and Even spending some time together, to make up for their lack of interaction in the last 2 ones. It wasn't supposed to be this way because like I said, chapters 10, 11 and 12 were originally meant to be one and only chapter. But I had no idea it would end up being this long and in the end, I think it works out nicely.
> 
> Wrapping up this final part of the Christmas chapters also means wrapping up what I consider to be the first part of the story and moving on to part 2. Now, I'll try to upload chapter 13 next Sunday, but the next two weeks are going to be a bit complicated for me, so I make no promises at all. Especially since I'm trying something a bit different with that next chapter.
> 
> Finally, I'm amazed at the reaction I got for chapter 11. I'm seriously blown away by the kindness you guys have shown in the comments and by the generally positive reaction. I can only hope that you continue to enjoy the story and that it does not disappoint you.
> 
> **Thank you all again so, so much!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: see end notes.

People are still celebrating outside. He’s lost track of time long ago, it’s probably well into the middle of the night, and conversation once lively are now more subdued.

Songs are coming up from the streets, fireworks are still being launched somewhere in the distances while shouts and laughter echo in the back of his mind.

His right arm is wrapped around Julie’s shoulder as they’re talking with Mikael about the last Star Wars movie. They’re all arguing about it, despite the fact that all three of them agree that’s it’s shit. Well, two of them. Julie is just shaking her head at the nonsense they’re probably spouting.

Mikael is going on about the lack of plot – which is how they started the whole conversation – and it makes him realise they’ve been talking in circles for the better part of the hour. Even doesn’t even like Star Wars that much.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yousef approaching, mobile phone in hand. His drawn and pale face immediately has him on high alert. He hands him the phone.

“You should take this. It’s bad.” He says in a tight voice.

Even gulps, feels his girlfriend’s eyes on him as he puts the phone against his ear, heart beating wildly.

*

He’s miles away, that much he knows.

Cold, steel grey waves howl with blindingly white foaming anger, threatening his absurdly tiny glorified bucket. He grips the edge with every ounce of strength he has left, knuckles white, holding on for dear life.

He has no recollection of how he got there in the angry sea in the first place. It might very well be his very first time out on the ocean, although he’s not entirely sure, and his brain his too cloyed up with pure terror to give it any serious thought. If the water doesn’t drown him, fear might do devour him first.

The small thing – it’s definitely not a boat – is swaying dangerously left and right, water slowly trickling in. He can feel it progressively soaking the flimsy fabric of his clothes, cold ensnaring him in a vice grip. The movement makes him nauseous, but he can’t find it in himself to move and inch to relieve his queasy stomach.

If only he could force his brain to _think_.

If only there was someone to help him. He finds himself wishing for the warm comfort of human presence. Except there isn’t. He’s all alone, and no one will help him. It should probably come as a surprise, but it doesn’t. He’s long ago learned that he’s always been alone and always will be. It’s become part of who he is now, he supposes. He tried to pretend otherwise, tried to form meaningful bonds, to connect to others, despite how hard it’s always been, but it’s all in vain in the end. Live alone, die alone.

A shadow falls over him. He looks up, but there’s not enough space in the world to see. It’s not a wave, it can’t be. It’s a dark wall of menacing green, a mountain, a faceless monster, a nightmare of nightmares. It comes tumbling, growling, screaming.

The crash sends him hurtling into a black, bottomless pit, his breath cut off. His body is not his any more, twirling and rolling like a ragged doll.

Darkness comes.

Panicked voices echo in a distant corner of his last shred of consciousness. Then there is no more.

Nothing.

*

He’s making dinner for the third time in a row tonight when Isak comes home. He looks dead on his feet but Even is pleased to note that he’s wearing his brand new gloves and that he cracks the tiniest of smile when his eyes land on him.

“Hey” comes the quiet greeting.

“Hey.”

He shuffles to his bedroom, taking of his coat and scarf, then back to the living room and lets himself fall heavily on the couch with an audible “oompf”.

“Long day?”

“Ugh.” is Isak’s eloquent answer.

Even would laugh, if it wasn’t for the ever growing worry about his flatmate’s health.

“Do you want help?”

The words are muffled – he assumes Isak is lying face down on a cushion – and charged with weariness.

They’ve been sharing dinner for the past three drays and he thinks Isak is finally getting comfortable enough around him to let him cook for the both of them without being automatically consumed with guilt.

That does not prevent him for doing the dishes and offering to help with the cooking and pay for the food every single time. All of which Even flat out refuses. He doesn’t want Isak to see this as a favour or a debt to be repaid.

He genuinely enjoys cooking, and finds himself growing fonder of conversations with his deceivingly snarky roommate. He used to love doing that with Sonja, with his parents, and he still enjoys doing it with Julie whenever they spend the evening at her place.

And Isak is not the master of being stubborn, no matter how hard he tries to be.

“I’m good, thanks. I should been done in soon.”

He just needs to stir the sauce a bit longer and maybe add some more parsley.

“Oh, I forgot to ask, do you like olives?”

Isak doesn’t deign to answer him, so he guesses it means yes.

“Isak?”

Again, he gets no answer. He knows Isak can get lost in his own world, especially when he’s tired like this, but still. Frowning, he goes to see what the guy is up to and what he finds almost has him laugh at loud.

He takes out his mobile phone and snaps a quick picture, smiles fondly. Blackmail material for later.

Isak is in the exact position he imagined him, lying on his stomach, legs going well over the armrest, face buried in cushions, sound asleep.

In the end, he lets the him sleep for about an hour before he gently shakes him awake. He’s now figured their dinners together is probably the best meal he gets, so food is a priority.

Isak stirs slowly then rolls on his back, getting dangerously close to the edge of the couch, and blinks blearily at him.

“Huh?”

Post-sleep, brain dead Isak it is, then.

“Do you want some dinner?”

“Huh.”

He takes that as the “Yes, please, thank you” it is, retrieves plates and cutlery from the kitchen, sets the food on their coffee table. Isak accepts it with enough consciousness that he actually utters a small “thank you” followed by a half-whispered “you don’t have to do this you know”. Even pretends not to hear him.

Instead, they talk about their respective days – Isak summing up his with one word (shit) – and Even telling him about his own afternoon with the boys.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you, do you mind if I throw a party here for New Year’s Eve? I was thinking of having a small gathering. I know it’s kinda last minute...” he trails off uncertainly.

But Isak just shrugs, unconcerned.

“Sure, man. I’m won’t be here anyway, we’re all having a thing at one of Jonas’ friends from uni. So yeah, do whatever you want.”

Even is admittedly slightly curious as to whom this “all” refers to, but mostly grateful for Isak’s easy acceptance.

They spend the rest of the evening talking quietly, arguing the merits of the Witcher TV show. Even growing more passionate about it until Isak admits he hasn’t seen him and is only trying to rile him up.

*

The place Even arrives to is a battlefield. That’s the first word that pops into his mind to accurately describe the chaos reigning in the other wise lovely suburban house. In the day, it’s probably a neat home, with a meticulously looked after garden, a very tidy and clean interior.

He’s ushered by two very drunk girls – one of which tries to make him feel up her breasts – and is immediately swallowed by the throngs of dancing people. The contrast with his own quiet evening at home is a stark one. He thinks back to his girlfriend and friends he left so suddenly.

Here, the walls are practically vibrating with the bass of whatever sound is trying to pass itself as music. Two giant speakers belching a blend of beats and screeches almost physically attacking him. His nose is assaulted by the strong stench of alcohol, weed and sweat. All around him, the mass of bodies oscillates, jumps, shouts, laughs.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to find anyone here, but he’s certain of one thing: he really, really wants to leave.

Suddenly, a hand grabs his sleeve and pulls him out of the overwhelming sea of party-goers. He finds himself in a corridor, facing a haggard looking Jonas and a guy he’s never seen.

“Shit man, I’m so glad to see you. This is Mahdi.” he says, gesturing at the guy beside him.

And Jonas does look incredibly relieved. Both guys do.

Even, for his part, is glad to finally put a face to the name he’s heard mentioned a few times, although he wishes the circumstances were different. He says as much to Mahdi as they shake hands.

“Me too man, trust me.” says Mahdi with a small smile.

They lead him upstairs, carefully stepping around – sometimes over – drunken people.

“We don’t know what happened,” says Jonas he opens a door with intent.

The lock looks broken. He shrugs sheepishly.

“We had to force it open, he locked himself in.”

Even forces long, slow exhales, can’t prevent the tightening of his throat at the idea of what he’s going to find.

“I swear I had no idea. He just… disappeared, you know?”

The worry and guilt in Jonas’ voice is doing nothing to assuage his own anxiety and he half wishes he hadn’t come here.

The smell itself is enough to make him want to throw up. The pungent, acrid combo of alcohol, weed and something he’s not quite willing to identify almost make his eyes water.

“Watch where you step, we think he...”

He nods mutely. Yeah, that probably happened.

The sight that greets him is worse than anything he’d imagined.

*

The party is in full swing already when he gets there. He’s met Jonas’ friend a couple of times before but doesn’t know the guy very well. He’s nice, he supposes, in a loud and abrasive kind of way. Also, he loves his weed, apparently. Which is probably why the both of them get on so well. Actually, he’s Jonas _and _Magnus’ friend from Uni. He wonders briefly if they’re trying to make him the new Mahdi – or worse, the new him – but dismisses the idea as absurd. Some day, he’ll get over his stupid insecurities.

Relationships and people aren’t that simple and clear cut. And Jonas would never do that, they’re brothers. Still, his treacherous brain can’t help but question everything.

He’s barely stepped inside the house that he gets an armful of Magnus yelling “Issy!”.

Not off to a great start then.

“Ugh.”

He groans, detaches himself from the friendly blond tornado. The hug he gets from Jonas is much stiffer and awkward than what they’re used to, but it’s not like he didn’t expect that.

Isak knows he’s the one who fucked up and needs to apologize. However, he also definitely wants to avoid any confrontation about what happened the last time they saw each other. There is little chance of them remembering anything anyway. It feels both distant and close, wrong and right. So he does what he does best: smiles, lies, and pretends everything is fine. He notes with shame that he’s become the master of lying to his best friend. Then again, Isak has always been the worst possible friend.

“I’m sorry about not replying to you, man.”

He pauses, knowing he has to give Jonas something to steer him off other topics, aware that it’s exactly what he did in high school.

“Things have been really shit at work and I wasn’t sleeping well.” he admits.

It’s not even a complete lie. But definitely not the entire truth. But it works as Jonas dubious look morphs into an expression of concern. Besides him, Magnus grows quiet.

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs, a small smile playing.

“It’s fine now, yeah. I was just stressing a lot you know? And then Christmas with my mum. Things are good now.”

He doesn’t say that things between him and his mother are the only good thing he’s got going for himself now. Well, that and his relationship – he doesn’t dare to call it a friendship – with Even.

Jonas goes for another half hug.

“I wish you’d talked to me, man.”

Isak swallows thickly, and he wonders if that’s more due to his ambivalent feelings about his lies working so well.

“I know. I wanted to. I’m sorry. Even really helped, though.”

Another pair of arms wraps around him and Jonas as Magnus joins them shouting “bro hug!”, because of course he does.

“Are we hugging, now?”

And fuck if Isak isn’t glad to hear that voice.

“Dude!”

“Hey, man!” says Jonas.

“We totally hug now.” exclaims Magnus.

“Fuck no.” mutters Isak, loud enough for them to hear.

“Isak hates it!”

And well, he’s not wrong. He still gets an eye roll for that.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you again, boys.” says Mahdi as he joins them.

“Oh, I love group hugs.” shouts an over enthusiastic familiar voice behind him.

Before Vilde has time to get any closer, Isak quickly lets go and take a step back. He ignores the disappointed look and focuses on the girls coming behind her.

Eva eyes him warily, looks torn between wanting to greet him with a hug of her own and escaping the situation altogether. In the end, they let out an awkward “hey” and just face each other, hands in their pockets. He tries to go for a smile but he’s sure it just comes out as a complicated grimace.

Maybe he did fuck up their friendship too bad for it to ever recover. Maybe it’s time for him to accept it and move on.

Chris Berg doesn’t hesitate for one second, throws herself at him for a tight – though thankfully brief – hug. Sometimes he wonders if she still entertains her weird crush on him from a few years back, but chalks it up to her friendly and caring nature. She wears her hair blue today, and it does suit her. He’s always been kind of envious of how little she cares about people’s opinion of her, how confident she is in her own skin. He wishes he had half her strength. Next to him, Magnus is gaping like a fish.

Coming back from the kitchen where he’s previously vanished, Jonas shoves her beer in his hand with a knowing smile. A man after his own heart. He thanks him wordlessly.

They all move from the entrance to the spacious and scarcely decorated, white-tiled living room.

The couches have been pushed back to form a cosy area in a corner while tables have been set up against the whiles and are displaying an impressively wide array of food and drinks.

Isak and the boys edge through the crow closer to what appears to be a mountain of tiny sandwiches. He wolfs down a couple, then a third and a fourth. They taste like heaven.

As he turns back to the guys, he realises that only Mahdi is still standing by him, gobbling down baby tomatoes with surprising speed and grace. He spots Magnus grossly making out with Vilde – and when those two will ever stop being disgusting, he would very much like to know. Jonas is probably somewhere talking to Eva, or hitting on girls, arranging a threesome or something. He squashes down the brief flash of jealousy at the thought of how quick Eva was to forgive her ex-boyfriend for everything, but not her friend.

“You okay, man?”

Mahdi is watching him carefully, concern unmistakable in his eyes, which he finds almost hilariously ironic. Out of the four of them, Mahdi used to be the most detached one, only ever focusing on partying, smoking, studying, and the occasional hooking up. He’s never been one to talk about “feelings and shit”. And now he’s looking at him, expecting what, he’s not sure, but he has this sort of settled aura about him, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be and now wants Isak to “talk it out”.

Perhaps Isak is the only left who needs to grow up. Even fucking Magnus is more mature than him, more in tune with his feelings and with those of people around him now. For all he claims, Isak feels like he’s still stuck in his teenage self.

He gives him what he hopes is the most nonchalant shrug in the history of shrugs.

“Yeah, man. I’m chill. How’s the army? Shoot anyone yet?”

Mahdi lets out an amused snorts and answers him with an eye roll. They’ve had this conversation multiple times already, but they always circle back to it.

“It’s not all about that, you know.”

He fakes surprise, because that’s how it goes every time.

“What’s the point then?”

“To protect and serve? Ever heard of that?”

He shakes his head, takes an exaggerated conspirational tone.

“Don’t let Jonas hear you.”

Lest he goes on another one of his long rants like he did last time. Isak is not sure he can bear another one of those. At least not after only one beer.

“But how is it going, really?” he asks.

There’s a happy glint in Mahdi’s eyes as he enthusiastically recounts his life and training at the military base. Mahdi is one of those cool cats who gets along with everyone, so adaptable that he goes through any situation unfazed with a disconcerting ease. He enjoys the communal aspect of the army, the close camaraderie. People supporting each other, working toward a superior common goal. And he definitely flourishes in the intense physical and mental training.

It’s something that Isak thinks he can appreciate, although he doesn’t believe he’s cut out for this kind of life, in such close quarters with people all the time, with no moment to himself and virtually no privacy.

“What about you, man. How is uni going?”

“I was going to ask that, too.”

He stills at the voice. He knew she’d be here, although he was hoping to have more alcohol in his system before he would have to face her. Squaring his shoulders, he forces a teasing grin.

Fake.

“Hey, best bud! Been missing you.”

The unimpressed stare and pursing of lips come as expected. Sana has never bought his bullshit.

“That’s probably why you haven’t answered _any_ of my messages, right?”

The quiet “ouch” coming from Mahdi on his left is loud enough to ring in his ear, a verbal translation of his own silent reaction. He keeps the easy smile firmly in place.

“Sorry, best bud, I’ve been really busy. Studying, working, you know.”

He mentally winces. “Best bud” twice in a row, he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried. Not that there would be any point in it, really. Sana’s expression hasn’t moved an inch, and he probably would be more impressed – possibly amused – if it weren’t for the irritation gradually creeping in.

He shrugs again and rolls his eyes at her, very much aware that it’s just adding fuel to her fire at this point, but before she can say anything, Magnus comes barging in.

“Dude! They’ve got rum! Fucking rum!”

And fuck if he doesn’t instinctively perk up. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sana bristle, expression tight, eyes narrowed, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. If looks could kill, Magnus would be pushing daisies.

“Sorry, Sanasol.” he says, following the boys to the kitchen.

He’s really not sorry at all.

*

They’re currently having a Mario Kart tournament. Even has never played it and is just content to watch them, amazed at discovering a new side of Julie’s personality. It turns out she’s ferociously competitive.

When he learned they had an old Wii and a Mario Kart game, Mutta brought a couple of controllers and a lot of misplaced overconfidence. Half an hour later, gone are the boasting and mocking jokes: Julie is literally wiping the floor with him and he almost looks on the verge of crocodile tears. From what Even understands, Julie’s pink blond princess, despite her sweet voice, keeps hitting Mutta’s green dinosaur with missiles and pushing him over the edge of the road. Mikael, Adam and Elias are cackling loudly. Yousef is shaking his head at them but doesn’t even try to hide his amused smile.

“Take that, bitches!” Julie announces as she crosses the finish line long before anyone else.

She stands and whoops loudly, does a little victory dance. Even doesn’t know whether he should be impressed or embarrassed, gives her a well deserved victory kiss. Her reward for putting an end to Mutta’s incessant bragging.

The poor guy throws the controller in dismay, the others not even attempting to console him.

“This game sucks,” he says. “There has to be a bug or something.”

“You can play against Even, if it makes you feel better.” offers Mikael.

They let out a collective snort.

“Even’s probably worse than the computer.”

He nods in agreement. That compute is a sneaky bastard.

“It’s not like I’ve ever played.”

“Not even with Isak?”

“He barely plays it, actually. He doesn’t spend too much time at home in general.”

Julie looks at him in understanding. She’s the only one out of all of them who’s never met the guy but apart from him, she’s probably the one who knows him the best.

“Is he still working a lot?”

“Yeah. From 7 to 18 every day. I think the only reason he takes a day off is because he’s legally obliged to.”

“Where does he work again?” asks Elias.

Even barks out a little laugh.

“No way I’m telling you guys. You just want to annoy or embarrass him.”

“We would never.” protests Mikael and Adam in unison, trying – and failing – to look innocent.

Even knows them too well to buy it. They’ve known Isak as Sana’s study buddy for years and although they mean no harm, they’ve always hinted at teasing him. And while their banter and humour is something he’s become accustomed to, he’s not entirely sure Isak would enjoy it as much as he does, especially right now.

He still remembers how badly his meeting with Mikael ended, hopes to rectify that at some point, though he knows waiting a little longer might be his best option. He’s been entertaining the idea of having a very belated house-warming party with all their friends present. He just needs to convince his skittish flatmate.

Thankfully, the conversation moves back to Julie – they’re all charmed by her smile and easy-going nature – then to Yousef and Sana’s relationship – Elias makes a disgusted face at this – to Mutta’s latest girl troubles. Or, according to Mikael, what would be girl trouble if there was an actual girl involved. He takes the good-natured teasing with grace but Even senses there might be something deeper going on and makes a mental note to ask about it later, when they’re alone.

About an hour before midnight, they all pack up in the train to Groruddalen – on Elias’ insistence. Once there, they all huddle up and soak in the excited atmosphere around them, more and more people coming to watch the show.

Then, the countdown begins.

Suddenly, New Year is here. Julie looks up at him, eyes shining in her eyes, and he thinks he’s never seen such a beautiful sight. They kiss for a long time, unsaid words passing from each other through emotions only. Around them, the guys are shouting and hugging each other. Good year wishes ringing in his ears. He hugs them all as well, Mikael coming up last, with a small, hopeful smile.

As the fireworks start, he understands why Elias was so adamant about coming here. He’d forgotten how much he’d loved it as a child. Seeing it again now, Julie in his arms, head tucked under his chin, is a brand new experience. Despite the crisp cold, her presence and the crowd nearby keep him warm.

Flowers of light illuminate the sky in explosions of colours and sound, trickles of vibrant hues on a journey amongst the stars, painting ribbons of glowing green, red, yellow, purple on a dark blue canvas, reflecting on the flat mirror of pitch black water. Faces of strangers illuminated, eyes bright with blinding sparks.

He hears Elias yelling excitedly – he’s pretty sure he’s filming a vlog or something – and feels Julie’s sigh of contentment.

It feels like a new beginning, which is a dumb thing to say, considering he pretty much feels that way about every new year. There’s something different about this one though.

His mental health has never been better, he’s finally found his footing with Isak and his life in the apartment, he’s excited to get his first glimpse at his future career and he’s got a beautiful and amazing girlfriend.

He’s not sure where the feeling comes from, but he knows in his heart of hearts that this year is going to bring about something new, something different, something happy.

*

3

2

1

“Happy New Year!”

Everyone shouts, yells, laughs, cries. No word decipherable, just a vague garbled sound of general happiness and excitement. He lifts up whatever bottle his has in his hand. Beer, he guesses.

Strong arms wound themselves around him. Before he has any time to flinch and push the person back, Jonas’ hair tickles his face.

“Dude!” he exclaims “Happy new year!”

Jonas almost lifts him up, it’s ridiculous. He rolls his eyes. Fuck, he loves Jonas.

He hugs him back and mutters a more quiet “Happy new year” in his ear. Jonas gives him the biggest grin he can manage – which is quite an impressive one – and pats him.

“It’s going to be the best one yet, you’ll see.”

Somehow, Isak doubts that, but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. Not like there’s even a point in trying when his best friend is so intoxicated. And he’s not doing much better himself. He wants to stay with with Jonas for the rest of the evening, but he’s promised Mahdi to hang some more and he can’t avoid Sana more than he already has.

She’s the only person who’s able to make him feel like a little kid who’s afraid to confess he’s broken the neighbour’s window and keeps delaying the inevitable. There is no deterring her.

He goes around, endures the hugs and well wishes and pats on the back with as much good grace as he can muster – which, admittedly, is not much – and returns them with a mostly sincere smile.

Things get a bit awkward with an overenthusiastic Magnus who seems like he’s trying to destroy his eardrum by shouting as loudly as he can, while Vilde looks like she really wants to hug him. With a long-suffering, he gives in, just this once.

An hour later, things go to shit, because they always do.

“Are you seriously going to make me chase and slap you?”

His hand tightens around his drink. Isak’s had some rum, a glass of something that may, or may not have been vodka, a few beers to and maybe half a joint. But he’s not drunk.

He’s not.

Okay, maybe he’s a little drunk, but certainly not enough to deal with Sana’s shit right now. He’s barely equipped to deal with her temper at the best of times as it is.

Now, she’s looking at him with fumes coming out of her nostrils. She looks very much like the dragon she probably was in a past life. And she’s gearing up for a fight.

He squares his shoulders, juts his chin forward.

“I don’t know what you mean” he retorts, keeping his tone deliberately cool.

He knows that’ll just serve to anger her even more, but finds he doesn’t give a fuck. The room says gently around him.

“I mean that you’re avoiding talking to me, for some reason. I know something is going, Isak, I’m not stupid.”

She articulates slowly, saying each word in a clipped voice, talking to him like he’s a child.

“I’m fine.”

His answer is out before he has time to think about it, an automatic defence mechanism that he’s been so accustomed to that it requires no thought process at all any more. Obvious, it doesn’t work on Sana – when has it ever – as she crosses her arms and gives him her most piercing, unimpressed glare yet.

“Funny. That’s why you haven’t replied to any of messages in weeks, and don’t give me that I was busy bullshit. I had to try to get Even to talk but obviously you’ve been pushing him away too.”

“Even and I are fine.”

Although, he’s starting to worry that Even knowing Sana might become an issue.

“Then what’s you’re problem? Is it your mum? Is it uni? Your insomnia? Don’t be a coward Isak.”

“Oh yeah, because you know all about being a coward, right, Sana?” he spits venomously.

She recoils, as if he’d physically slapped her he notes with vicious satisfaction. A familiar blend or rage and shame flare up in his chest, almost cuts of his air supply. She rallies and counter-attacks.

“Grow the fuck up, Isak. I’m not going to apologize again for something I did when I was a teenager, I already have, and we’re both over it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

The anger now coursing white hot through his veins makes him realise he needs to flee before he says something he’ll regret. But the alcohol is slowing his movements and muffling his rational thoughts.

As he moves to leave, she steps in front of him, blocking his path, tries to grab his arm before he violently flinches away.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she almost shouts.

“My problem? My fucking problem is you! Always… Always nagging me. Pretending you give a fuck, acting like you’re so much fucking better than me when you’re fucking not. You just want to fuck up my life again!”

In his drunken haze, he watches her going still. Watches the muscles in his jaws contract, her hands falls back to her side. They stay facing each other for an eternity, and he thinks he sees something in her eyes. Then she turns away and vanishes into the dancing sea.

He stands unmoving, a little unsteady, in the middle of the room, tries to ignore the wave of shame threatening to drown him. He imagines looks on him, is aware that their scene attracted a small audience. Ignores them too.

The world is spinning faster and faster as he takes a few wobbly steps. He’s not quite certain he’s still walking on the floor and not on the walls. Or maybe the walls are the floor.

How he manages to get to the bathroom, he has no idea. He watches himself from a distance as his hands numbly reach for a cabinet, blindly reaching inside. He washes everything with whatever is in the bottle he’s holding.

*

It takes his brain a full minute to catch and comprehend what he’s actually seeing.

He carefully steps over the pills strewn on the white tiles and avoids… the rest. Jonas hands him a tiny bottle.

“Do you know what that is?”

He does, yeah. He’s seen that one before.

“Do you know how many he took?”

Jonas shrugs helplessly, explains succinctly that they’d been looking for him and eventually found him there, with no clue has to what happened. Nodding sadly, he takes charge of the operations.

“Help me get him out of this first, we need to put him on his side.”

Behind them, Mahdi is talking on the phone.

Looking down, he blinks a few times, his chest tight with a dull ache. Isak is unconscious, looks deathly pale in the bleak white light, hair sticking to waxen skin. He’s scarily light as he and Jonas gently lift him out of the bathtub. He’s pretty sure he hears Jonas mutter “fucker’s lost weight again”.

He refrains from saying that he’s been trying to fatten him up a little, know that it won’t do anyone any good right now.

They carefully set Isak and the floor and move him on his side. Mahdi comes back to them.

“Emergency services are overwhelmed right now. They say to leave him in recovery position, keep watch and monitor his vitals.”

Nothing surprising. He hasn’t seen that happen but he knows that they need to make sure Isak doesn’t choke on his own vomit.

The three of them take some time to clean the bathroom as much as possible, although he has a feeling that it’s going to be dirtied again before too long. He lets himself slide down the nearest wall until he’s sitting close to his passed out flatmate. Across the room, the two guys do the same.

All they can do now is wait.

Mahdi puts a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“He’ll be okay, man. He’s a tough little shit.”

Jonas just sighs.

“It’s fucking high school all over again. I thought he was done pulling shit like that.”

“What happened in high school?”

There’s no mistaking the sudden tensing in the room, or the quick look exchange between the younger men.

“What didn’t happen in high school, more like.” huffs Mahdi with a snort.

“It was just shit.” adds Jonas.

“Fucking drama all the time. Isak and Sana...”

“Dude!” interrupts Jonas with a quick shove to Mahdi’s shoulder.

The latter clamps his mouth shut. Jonas sends an apologetic look to Even.

“Sorry, he says. It’s not our story to tell.”

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his disappointment and frustration, but he can’t blame them either. He used to hate when Sonja carelessly shared details about him to strangers without even pausing to wonder whether he minded or not (and he did fucking mind).

“I don’t know how to help him.” he sighs.

Silence falls between them, the beat of the distant music coming muffled through the walls. His phone indicates that it’s now close to three in the morning. Three hours ago, he had Julie in his arms, his friends next to him. That’s really not how he’d envisioned the rest of his night. He’s got multiple texts from her and the guys, send back a quick one to reassure them that everything’s okay.

Although it’s really not. So many questions swirl in his brain, they’re making him dizzy.

After long minutes of silence, he decides to leave the room for a while to call Julie and apologize – again – to her. She insists that he’s not to blame, but he can’t help the guilt welling up inside him for ruining their first New Year’s Eve together. The whole thing is an unpleasant throwback to the dark parts of his high school years.

When he slinks back down on the cold bathroom floor, he makes sure to inch closer to Isak. If they notice it, the other two don’t mention it.

“You guys can go, if you want” he says after a while. “I’ll look after him and take him home”.

Jonas meets his eyes with a penetrating look.

“He’s my best friend.” he says simply.

Mahdi nods, says nothing.

He eventually loses track of times, nods off a little. Images of Sonja, Julie and Isak blending together.

The ever pleasant sound and rancid smell of someone emptying their guts wakes him up. He’s the first to reach Isak’s side and puts a hand on the trembling body of his flatmate. The violent retching echoes loudly in the otherwise silent house. Mahdi and Jonas, who probably dozed off as well at some point, hover close by, a pained look on their faces.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

The vomiting goes on for a long time before it turns into dry and painful coughs. It’s one of the most terrible sights Even’s ever witnessed. Tears roll down the young man’s cheeks and he runs slow circles on his back. Two red-rimmed and glassy eyes meet his before Isak lets his head fall limply again.

He barely has time to catch it before he hits the floor and lies in the pool of his own waste. He grasps the small damp towel Mahdi hands him and delicately washes his roommate’s face.

The two guys exit the room to look for a mop, leaving him to look at his sleeping friend. He gently moves a strand of hair against the clammy and pale forehead. Isak is half curled on himself and has never looked so frail.

His chest does a weird thing. Like a slow, deliberate hit, or a shiver. Constricting and gone before any conscious thought forms.

He doesn’t dwell on it. The other two are back and they all set to work to give the bathroom a good clean.

“Isak so owes me for that one.” grumbles Mahdi.

“Yeah. But considering the ones we owe him...”

They both fall silent again and Even is reminded of the distance he’s kept at. He’s the outsider looking in, and it’s getting tiresome. The ever growing frustration of being kept at arms length is become harder and harder to handle.

He’s also very much aware of how little they know him and admires their steadfast support of their friend. He just wishes he was part of that circle of trust.

“I should take him home now, I think he’ll be fine, and I don’t want him waking up on a bathroom floor.”

The house is dead silent as they carry Isak as carefully as they can. It’s not too difficult, the guy is a lightweight. But he’s pretty tall and it makes manoeuvring him down the stairs a little tricky. In the end, Even carries him bridal style.

“Sorry man, but...”

He’s opening his mouth to protest as the flash blinds him for half a second, but Jonas has already snapped a shot and is pocketing his phone again.

“Someday, we’ll have a laugh about it, trust me.”

He rolls his eyes at them but can’t help the fond smile threatening to take over. These guys’ friendship is something else.

They somehow manage to get to his car without bumping into furniture or waking anyone up. As Jonas closes the door behind them, he has a brief thought for the actual owners of the house who are in for long day of cleaning up.

It’s still dark outside as he gently set Isak on the back seat. It’s snowing almost shyly, the stillness of the morning an evident contrast with the sparking energy of the night before.

“Do you guys want me to drop you off?” he asks.

Jonas shakes his head. They look as exhausted as he feels.

“We’re biking it, it’s fine. And sorry about ruining your plans, man. We didn’t know who else to call.”

“Don’t worry. I’m glad you called me.” He pauses. “I care about him.”

The two smiles he gets in return are genuine, happy ones.

“We know. And Isak cares, too, you know. In his own grumpy way.”

Not knowing what to say, he lets out a small chuckle and nods his head.

“Was good seeing you though. We should hang more.”

“Yeah.”

They all hug briefly, and he promises to send Jonas a text when Isak is better “because fuck knows the little shit won’t”. He watches them getting on their bike and pedalling away, disappearing from sight.

The drive to their flat is short and quiet one. The streets silent and deserted, lights dimmed in slumber. In a few hours, the city will slowly wake up, open its eyes on the first sunlight of the new year. Eyes will open, hopeful and giddy, tired and hungover. Gradually, all traces of partying and celebration will be erased, headaches will be conquered by aspirin, the last shred of the hear before slowly vanish in the tide of the new one.

Then, daily life will take over, routine ebbing in, inevitable. Shopping, studying, working, cleaning, sleeping. Rinse, repeat.

Getting Isak out of the car and up to their apartment is a challenge without an additional two pairs of arms to help. Somehow, he manages without dropping him once. He doesn’t even stir.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s been getting more and more drawn to the mystery that is Isak’s bedroom, so stepping inside it for the first time is akin to entering a mythical, forbidden kingdom. Carefully setting him on the bed, resting his head gently of a navy blue pillow, he briefly debates undressing him and eventually settles on leaving his jeans and t-shirt on.

He tries not to stare too much at the walls and shelves, but that resolves doesn’t last long. The room is pretty bare and testimony of the neat guy Isak is. A couple of science posters here and there, a star chart, a table of periodical elements – and how much nerdier can one get? - a very orderly arranged desk.

He turns to leave when it catches his eye. There, above the desk.

His drawings, a whole fresco of them. Every single one pinned to the wall, forming a kind of mosaic. The sight keeps him rooted on the spot.

With almost trembling fingers, he reaches out to trace one of them. He remembers this one vividly. Isak, a white sheet over him, saying “boo”. He can’t believe he’s kept all of them. Jonas’ words ring in his mind.

His mind is a whirlwind of confusing thoughts and emotions as his head hits his pillow.

Yes, the city will stir, stretch and yawn, open its eye to a brand new day, ready to jump back into a never-ending circle of reality.

But for a few more hours, he and Isak will remain in their little bubble out of time, blissfully unaware of the world outside.

Just the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: allusion to possible drug/alcohol overdose
> 
> What a ride this has been. I thought for sure it would take me ages to post but in the end, I did a lot of writing last week. So much in fact that I wrote this one twice: I have a forty page manuscript and seventeen page word document. It also means a lot of proof reading, which I'm not overly fond of (especially since I write "his" instead of "he's" every couple of paragraphs.
> 
> On the other hand, a lot happened in this chapter and it turned out a little darker than I'd planned, although things were always going to go in this fashion. It's a necessary step in Isak's journey and his relationship with Even. I tried to balance it out with lighter moments but I know it doesn't help much. On the plus side, it allowed me to give more hints on what happened to Sana and Isak in high school, and it gave Even a reason to shine. And also, Mahdi!
> 
> I wish I could say that things are going to get better for Isak soon, but I think you know me well enough by now. There will eventually be more happiness, I promise. And chapter 15 is the big Isak reveal! (maybe not so big if you've been paying really close attention).
> 
> ** Once again, thank you so, so much. I know I keep saying that, but your support does mean a lot. And I love reading and replying to your comments - although I keep waiting for the one that's going to say it's all shit and disappointing haha. Thanks for sticking with me and the boys, don't lose hope! <3 **


	14. Chapter 14

Waking up brings a whole marching band, a complete fucking orchestra of percussions and drums pounding against the walls of his skull. Scrambling on unsteady legs, he barely makes it to the bathroom before the nausea takes over and he empties the meagre content of his stomach. Sitting back weakly on the cool floor, he uselessly vows to never drink again. Until next time, that is.

Upon returning to his room, he avidly swallows the aspirin and drinks half the bottle he doesn’t remember setting on his bedside table. Lying once again in his bed, letting his head fall back on his pillow, he prays for sleep to drown him again.

  
  


It takes him two full days to recover completely, and he avoids Even has much as he can, stays cooped up in his room when he can get away with it. Until he can’t take it any more, aware of how much he owes him. Secretly missing his company.

When he finally emerges on Sunday morning, his flatmate is eating breakfast, lazily flicking the screen of his phone, pop songs playing in the back ground. Mellow grey light shrouds the apartment as the heavy sky outside sails slowly past their windows, promises of rain in the low dark clouds.

He hesitates a second, decides to suck it up, steps inside the room. He greets him with a too quiet “hey” while making himself a cup of tea.

Even lifts his head and smiles at him, eyes crinkling a little.

“Hey, Isak. How are you doing?”

He shrugs dismissively.

“Still feel like shit. But I deserve that.”

Even doesn’t reply, simply nods slightly, eyes tracking his every move. His gaze is still on him when he finally sits across, hands wrapped around the burning hot mug. It has the drawing of a unicorn on it. A gift from Eskild – because unicorns are awesome.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

As if caught doing something inappropriate, Even shakes his head and immediately averts his eyes.

“You look kind of terrible.”

“Wow. Thank you so much.” he retorts, with an eye roll for good measure.

“Sorry, I just...”

Even sighs and goes silent, focuses on his phone again. Isak gulps, bites his lip, plays a little with the mug. Tries to take a sip but the liquid is scalding on his tongue.

“I know I fucked up, he says eventually, I don’t remember everything but I guess Jonas called you and you took me home and I’m...”

He pauses, swallows thickly.

“I’m sorry for ruining your party.”

Even’s eyes are back on his, stare unflinching.

“It’s okay. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Isak snorts disbelievingly.

“Right.”

Silence falls again.

“Anyway. Sorry again. And thank you. I owe you. A lot.

It’s Even’s turn to shrug. Quiet stretches between them, though it’s not altogether unwelcome. One of the kitchen windows is slightly open, letting the subdued sounds of the outside world in.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Here comes the question he’s been dreading all along. He’s actually impressed by Even’s patience. The guy has shared a lot about his own history, his struggle with mental health issues whereas Isak has told him virtually nothing. He’s opened to him, trusted him implicitly, without question. Isak on the other hand still doubts and hesitates, eludes questions, changes topics. He’s always hated having to talk to people about things that affect him. But Even is different, though he doesn’t understand why. Perhaps, just this once, he could give something, make Even’s trust in him a two way street.

“It’s just… a lot going on. Things aren’t that great with Jonas. And then, I had a fight with Sana.”

He stops, tries to pick out his next words with care.

“I don’t remember the details, but… She’s been hounding me for weeks, sending me texts. She wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, she cornered me and asked about you a few weeks ago.”

He nods. That does sound like her.

“Anyway. She was at the party. And she just… I just… I wanted her to leave me alone, and she wouldn’t and I was… I said some awful things to her.”

He lets his gaze fall to his cup, wills himself not to cry in front of Even, takes a sip, just to have something to do. Tries to ignore the guilt and shame welling up inside, threatening to drown him. Doesn’t want to face Even’s judgement.

“You pushed her away so you wouldn’t have to talk to her.”

There is nothing but kindness and understanding in Even’s eyes when he looks up to meet them.

His shoulders sag a little, he hates being so transparent, hates how real Even’s words are making this whole debacle.

“Yeah.”

“I do it too. When I’m depressed. I push people away. Because I think I don’t deserve kindness. But Sana will forgive you.”

He holds a snort in. Even doesn’t know Sana as well as he thinks he does.

“She won’t. And if she does, I don’t deserve it. What I said...”

He cuts himself off, unwilling to conjure up the words he half remembers. It’s not even so much the words themselves as the resentment and venom behind them. The willingness to hit exactly where he knows will hurt.

“Was it that bad?”

A dark laugh almost escapes him. “Bad” would probably be the understatement of the decade. For some weird reason, he needs Even to understand that, needs him to accept what a terrible person Isak is, squash down any potential sliver of hope for forgiveness.

“I made her believe I hated her for what happened in high school.”

Sighing at his flatmate’s uncomprehending look, he resigns himself to an abridged and vague summary of what he’s come to dub as “the event” in his head.

“Back then things were mostly shit. I mean… I was kind of in a bad place already. With Jonas and the guys, with my parents. I was trying to figure out my sexuality. I did some pretty shitty things, ruined friendships. Third year was… Sana had a lot of shit going on as well. And she… She did something and it just… I got blamed for it.”

He’s a little breathless by the time he’s done speaking, grateful to Even for not prodding.

“And do you? Hate her I mean?”

“Of course not. She’s one of my best friends. We were teenagers and it wasn’t even that bad. I’m over it.”

He can almost see the gears turning in Even’s mind, the words of comfort ready to come out. He doesn’t want to hear them, he’s not worth them.

“She’ll forgive you.” Even firmly declares.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t deserve to be forgiven.” he whispers, not trusting his voice not to break.

Even’s warm hand wraps gently around his arm.

“We’re allowed to fuck up sometimes. I would forgive you. Everyone deserves forgiveness Isak.”

He doesn’t say that fucking up is all he ever does, all he’s ever done. Destroying friendships and relationships. He’s pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before he fucks up this blossoming friendship with Even, but resolves to enjoy it while he’s allowed.

Even stands up, goes to wash his dishes, squeezes his shoulder softly.

Isak has never wanted to believe someone has much as he does right now.

  
  


  
  


On the first day of his internship in Computation biology and gene regulation at UiO, Isak arrives twenty minutes early. The hall is eerily quiet, a few people on their way to work or class, trudging tiredly, holding steaming cups of coffee.

He hasn’t slept a wink last night, despite Even once again cooking an amazing dinner. He’s helped this time, stubbornly taking a knife and vegetables to chop. He uses the extra time to walk around, hoping the biting cold and two black coffees he’s already had will somehow be enough to wake his brain and make him at least semi-performant.

At 8:00 on the dot, he stands in front of Professor Miller’s door. This man is going to be his mentor for the next six weeks and he wonders briefly if he too will one day get his name on a door like this one. Professor Isak Valtersen, now that sounds cool. It’s not going to happen though. Just a pipe dream. Barely even that.

Jakob Miller is a tall, severe looking man, well in his fifties, small round glasses perched atop a slightly crooked nose, high, intelligent forehead and sparse grey hair. He’s the spitting image Isak has of a research scientist with multiple PhDs. He speaks clearly, with concise sentences and barely perceptible traces of an accent. German or Polish, if he were to guess.

He forces his brain to focus on the words directed at him.

“… highly praised by two of your professors. I am certain that you will find working here both fascinating and challenging.”

He has to agree, at least on the challenging part. Staying conscious is a struggle in itself, so not fucking up will definitely be a challenge. As for fascinating, he doesn’t remember when he started having to repeat to himself that he likes what he’s dedicated the past few years of his life to. He’s unsure of how fascinating things will actually be, but he’ll make himself enjoy them anyway. He has to.

“One of our current projects is the developing of new computational methods and tools for prioritizing somatic mutations dysregulating the gene regulatory system in cancer cells. A potentially crucial step in the treatment of cancer, as you can imagine.”

He nods, a little dazed, mentally repeating each word with care, trying to extract a vague meaning. It feels like he’s just been hit several times with a baseball bat made of words and concepts. He has a rough, very faint idea, but still feels way out of his depth.

  
  


The rest of the day is spent meeting new people who talk at him like they expect him to understand them – barely concealing their excitement – and trying to keep up with conversations that fly so high above his head it sounds like he’s hearing a new language.

He clocks in a couple of hours at work that evening, as per his contract, and it’s close to being an out of body experience, watching someone else moving around in an Isak costume.

He goes home so mind-numbingly exhausted that he barely eats, pushing his food around the plate, and only listens from a distance to Even going on enthusiastically about his day.

As he lies in his bed, eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling, questions swirl and float in his tired mind. The same one coming back to the forefront. The same as always:

What is he going to do?

  
  


  
  


The last few years have been a long string of doubts and questions. But as he steps inside the classroom, twenty pairs of eyes fixed on him with expressions of varying curiosity, all he feels is certainty. This is where he belongs. Not only can he do this, but he knows he’ll be good at it, great even, and will enjoy every single second.

His mentor teacher is a nice lady with a constant smile on her face. She welcomed him with a warm hug and pastries because he’ll “need the energy”. She’s showed him around the school, introduced him to her colleagues, explained the curriculum and the various current project she’s working on with her pupils.

Every single piece of new information only adds to his excitement.

The classroom itself is both a peaceful haven with plush chairs, soft carpets and an explosion of warm colours, drawings, paintings, sculptures everywhere. Every shelf is overcrowded with art furniture. Cans and tubes of paint, dozens of brushes, crayons, pencils, felt-tips and so on.

His brain is already buzzing with hundreds of ideas and the prospect of all the fun he’s going to have.

A wide smile on his face, Even steps in front of the kids and introduces himself.

  
  


  
  


Thankfully, this first week is just observation. He’s shadowing a couple of post-doctorate researchers in charge of the project before actually having to participate.

Every day goes pretty much in the same fashion, trying not to be in the way, nodding to people asking him question, trying to pretend he understands them, faking enthusiasm. And then, full shifts at the supermarket on Saturday and Sunday. He still manages to go to the swimming pool, pushing his aching muscles to the limit. Enjoying the brief physical exhaustion and calmness that takes over in the aftermath.

On the next Monday evening, he gets an unexpected phone call from a sobbing Noora. After assuring her that he wasn’t sleeping, he spends an hour listening and trying to comfort her as much as he can. They were never really close, even after living together at Kollektivet, but hearing her distress breaks his heart a little. She was always the strongest while he doesn’t know what to tell her, hasn’t much to offer. He figures Eskild would know how to comfort her, and Jonas or Sana would be the best voice of reason, but she makes him promise not to tell anyone.

By the following Thursday, he’s given up trying to sleep altogether and instead spends his nights reading everything he can on the project, every article, every study, every paper ever published in the hope of finally being able to contribute instead of just standing there, gaping like an idiot.

He waves off Even’s looks of concern and eludes questions, he’s fine.

Power naps on the couch in the evening while a film plays on the TV, large quantities of coffee in the morning.

He’s fine.

  
  


  
  


Even is worried.

Isak has been isolating himself again. He’s been irritable and distant, pushing his food around, barely eating, barely talking. He’s tried asking him about his internship, sharing stories about his own, to no avail.

It can only mean one thing: something bad is going on.

At first, he thought it might have been about New Year’s Eve and their conversation the following morning but Isak hasn’t mentioned it again. And while it might still be an issue – he doesn’t think whatever lead Isak to drink himself into stupor will be solved by a single talk – he’s pretty sure there’s something else, something bigger.

He’s taken to writing down the nights when he knows for sure Isak doesn’t sleep at all and the first results terrify him: the younger man hasn’t slept in over ten days. He just comes back every night, looking half dead, locks himself in his room, only coming back to have dinner with him.

  
  


  
  


He’s two weeks in his internship when it all goes to shit, because of course it does.

Sitting half-hidden in a corner that’s been cleared for him in a post-doctorate office, a nice girl who barely looks older than him, with pixie jet black hair and a nose ring.

He’s been alternating tea and coffee in a desperate attempt to be somewhat functional enough and at this point, his hands are shaking lightly as he types a report from some computing he did earlier with one of the lab assistants.

It’s not until a hand on his shoulder makes him jump that he hears the voice talking to him. It’s Rosa, the girl with the nose ring.

“You okay, Isak? I called your name but you weren’t answering.” Concern is clear on her face.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess I was kinda lost in this. You know.”

He gestures towards the screen displaying words that slowly dance before his eyes. He forces out small laugh. Eyeing the empty coffee cup beside his hand, she nods hesitantly, like she’s not quite sure she believes him, but decides to let it slide for now.

“I tend to get lost in my own world to whenever I’m working on something.”

He hopes she doesn’t pay too close attention to the screen, doesn’t see the gigantic amount of bullshit he’s typed.

“Anyway. Doc sent me. He wants to see you.”

A cold shiver runs though him as he opens his mouth to speak but words get in his throat. Forcing his breath to remain even, he schools his features into a lax expression and follows her to professor Miller’s office. She leaves him at the door with what she must think is a kind smile. The sort of smile you give people when they’re about the get operated on by a drunk surgeon or chosen as a human sacrifice for a particularly hungry god.

Letting out a trembling breath, he knocks firmly on the door. Time to get it over with.

A few seconds pass before a loud “enter” sounds from the other side. Professor Miller is talking on the phone and writing a large notebook at the same time as he gestures for Isak to sit down.

He waits patiently, back almost rigid, observes the man humming and yessing at the phone. It might be his rampant paranoia or his over-exerted brain – and he really hopes it is – but he thinks he looks tired and tense. Maybe a little angry even, there’s a slight frown and a few wrinkles on his forehead that don’t bode well for this conversation.

By the time he hangs up, Isak has managed to work himself up to the verge of full-blown panic.

“So, Mr. Valtersen, how are you today?”

The gulps he takes echoes loudly in his ears, and he hopes Professor Miller doesn’t hear it.

“Very good sir, thank you” he replies dutifully, trying to inject as much sincerity as he can into his words.

“Good, very good.”

The gaze that sets upon him is a purely scientific one. He’s a strange and foreign object being put under a microscope. What the professor hopes to find, he has no idea, but the man eventually clears his throat and goes on.

“I wanted to have a discussion with you today, to tell you that we are considering cutting your internship short.”

A wave of cold water washes over him. All thoughts suddenly flee him, leave him petrified as the hole in his chest opens wide. He waits for it to grow, consume him, swallow him whole.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a very good match. I have heard from the people working around you that you have been somewhat distracted and passive in your work. As you know, we are very demanding in terms of commitment, so this is not something we can have. I’m sure you understand.”

He can’t speak, can’t form the words or even the thoughts, can’t push them out past his lips. He can’t even nod, every muscle in his body paralysed. He can barely breathe. All he does is listen vaguely to the professor go on and on about responsibility and work ethics. He stands in the corner of the room, watches himself sitting in one of the two chairs across the professor’s desk, watch the Isak skin suit remain motionless as words hit it over and over again.

“… one more week, you understand?”

He’s back in his body. Nods slowly. What else is there to do?

He stands up up robotically, leaves the office, walks on autopilot.

What else is there to do? He should have expected it. Everything’s been building up to that moment, he’s been too blind to see it, but now he does. The grand finale, the spectacular fail of one Isak Valtersen, who’s managed to fuck the internship of his dreams in less than two weeks. He’d worked so long for that and it’s just gone now, in the blink of an eye. Because he couldn’t be a proper human being and function normally. Because he didn’t study hard enough, didn’t read enough. Wasn’t good enough. His father was right, after all.

He can picture them already. Sana’s mocking face. “I told you I was better than you, Valtersen” she’ll say. Eskild, Linn, Jonas’ sad expressions. Even’s pity.

And his mother. Yet another disappointment.

  
  


The rest of the day is a dream – or a nightmare – spent ignoring judging looks, typing words and numbers that have lost all meaning on his laptop. There is an upside to the news of his firing of sorts seemingly having spread: people give him a wide berth.

A solid, impenetrable bubble has formed around him, effectively shutting out the outside world by the time he rides his bike to the supermarket then back home. He forgoes going straight up to the apartment and instead leaves his bike to go for a walk around the neighbourhood. He doesn’t know how long he roams the empty streets, letting his feet do the thinking, lost in the dark confines of his own head. He doesn’t feel the cold nipping at his skin, numb to the freezing water soaking his feet through the holes in the soles of his shoes.

He loses track of time and walks, walks, and walks. Hopes to disappear in the night and never return. Waits for the hole in his chest to consume him.

What is he going to do? What is he going to say? None of the stories his brain is coming up with sound remotely believable.

A cat is staring at him from across the street and meows pathetically when he steps closer. It looks up at him with large curious eyes, pushing its small, thin body against his legs as he bends down to pet it.

“Yeah, I know little buddy. I know.”

  
  


  
  


He eats alone that evening, staring sadly at the empty plate across him. Isak hasn’t come home.

He hasn’t said it out loud, but he misses their conversations. He misses not being able to share stories about the kids at the school with someone who isn’t Yousef (he’s heard it all before), Mikael (he’s bored him to death with those stories already) or Julie (he doesn’t want to bore hear to death).

He’s once again at a loss with his flatmate and fears he’s losing all the progress they’ve been making until now.

Once again, there’s only one person whom he thinks might be to help him.

He dials the number and can’t help the small, hopeful smile at the excited voice that greets him.

  
  


  
  


  
  


It’s well past 23:00 and the apartment is plunged in darkness and silence by the time he steps inside. There’s no light under Even’s door but a new drawing on the fridge’s door, and food for him inside.

He takes off his threadbare shoes and soggy socks, tries desperately to gradually warm up his achingly cold feet. Maybe with the end of his internship he can take more shifts at the supermarket. Or a second job. Something like cleaning offices at night.

In the meantime, he’ll just use tape again to cover the holes.

Mournfully eating the barely reheated dinner, he silently thanks Even, wishing he could find a way to be half as good his flatmate is.

And if a couple of silent tears roll down his cheeks and fall with unheard “plocks” on the kitchen island, no one has to know.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the typical example of plans go astray. Until I actually started writing it, it was supposed to be an "Even chapter". At least, it was in my original plan. When I outlined the story, I wrote words that I used as working titles, summing up the ideas or themes of every chapter. This one was called "Insomnia" and I remember writing something along the lines of "Even is getting increasingly worries as Isak's insomnia takes a toll." Which, I guess, still fits.
> 
> It's not a very happy chapter, and I feel like the angst keeps piling up and while this wasn't my intention at first, it's a necessary evil (well, I say evil but but I kind of love it ahah). I promise you lighter moments to make up for it in the next two chapters.
> 
> ** Again, thank you everyone for your patience with me and your kind words and kudos. I will do my best to make the story worth it. The comments for the previous chapters have been so amazing it's really helped me write more. So thank you so, so much again. I can't tell you much, but I'm very excited about posting next chapter. It has answers in it.**


	15. Chapter 15

He looks quizzically at the three shirts laid out on his bed before him. Black, dark blue, dark green. Okay, so maybe not the black one. It’s a date, not a funeral.

Going into the living room, he finds Isak nodding off on the couch, a pile of books precariously perched in his lap. He really needs to do something about his obsession with obscure and unintelligible science titles.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, he came home from work a couple of hours ago, soaking wet from the light rain outside. It forms a compact grey curtain outside their window, almost blotting out the street and the rest of the city.

The single glow of a lamp, a lighthouse in the muted greyness of their apartment, caresses the sleeping soft frame.

Eskild’s words still ring in his mind, but Isak has seemingly been doing better these pas few days. He still looks awful, the dark circles under his eyes making him like a blond raccoon. He’s stopped shutting himself in his room at least and eats a bit more. Even will take his victories where he can get them.

He’s about to turn around and go back to his room when Isak stretches, his favourite grey hoodie riding up, a sliver of pale skin almost glowing in the dim golden light. Green eyes open and zero in on him right away.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hey,” he says with a smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t. I was just resting my eyes.” comes the quiet reply with a barely stifled yawn. “What’s up?”

“Hum”.

He hesitates now, feeling a little foolish for worrying about such a trivial matter. He’s never asked anyone this kind of thing before, hasn’t had to, and still doesn’t, if he’s honest. It’s not worrying _per se._ Julie won’t care about the shirt he’s wearing – unless it’s to get it off him later in the evening – she’s never cared before, not putting too much importance in clothes and make up and shoes and all that. She’s claimed multiple times that he looks handsome no matter what, and he’s seen her looking tired, clothes wrinkled after an exhausting long day at work, and still look like the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. It’s not even a special occasion. Just a regular date, and an apology. But he wants to make an effort, wants her to know how grateful he is to have her in his life and how he appreciates her patience with him having been busy dealing with his internship and his flatmate issues.

Not issues exactly, because Isak is not a burden he’s been saddled with, he’s _not_.

It still feels like he hasn’t been around much, hasn’t been a good boyfriend, and he vows to make up for that.

He holds out the two shirts to Isak, knowing he won’t be judged. They’re friends now, he tells himself, so it’s okay to do this, and Isak is probably one of the least judgemental people he knows.

“I’ve got a date tonight, and I don’t know which one to pick.”

“Ok?”

He looks a little shell-shocked. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes him wonder if he’s being obtuse on purpose.

“Could you maybe help me out?”

He’s come to expect the eye roll by know. He doesn’t know if it’s a by-product of living with someone for almost six months or if it’s just Isak being Isak, but he’s become more aware of his flatmate’s little ticks and quirks, more attuned to his moods and emotions. He’s noticed how he licks his lips and plays with the hem of his shirt when he’s nervous, how he lowers his head and averts his gaze when he’s sad or thinks he’s being attacked, how the muscles of his jaw clench, his eyes narrow, how he juts his chin forward when he’s being stubborn or defiant. How he rolls his eyes at least once in every single conversation.

“Eskild put you up to this?”

“Huh?”

Eskild has put him up to a few things by now, none of which Isak is aware of and certainly not asking for fashion advice from a sullen overgrown teenager.

“He used to ask me all the time. _Do these jeans make me look fat? Should I wear this white top or this other with top? Should I let this guy suck my dick?_”

He says that last one with a horrified shudder, making Even almost choke with laughter.

“Yeah,” snorts Isak. “He doesn’t know what oversharing means.”

They share a little laugh, Even’s chest giving a little tug at his flatmate’s fond smile.

“I just want your opinion.”

The younger man stares at him for the longest time, curiosity and doubt in his gaze.

“The blue one.”

“Yeah?”

He only gets a shrug this time.

“I’m not a fashion expert, in case you haven’t noticed. Eskild is always on my case because most of my clothes have holes in them. But the blue shirt looks nice.”

“Thank you.” says Even with a smile.

He doesn’t catch the mumbled words coming from his flatmate who’s already back to reading the large volumes seemingly open at random. He’s willing to bet Isak is just pretending at this point. Leaving his flatmate to his books, he goes to his room and puts the shirt on. Isak is not wrong, he does indeed look nice. He should probably wear it more often.

Isak is still feigning to be deeply engrossed into whatever scientific garble his gaze is currently fixed on when he sits next to him on the couch, shoving long, sweatpants-clad legs out of the way.

“I can put a movie on if you want.” he offers.

“I’m good, thanks” the younger man huffs, but can’t quite hide the small smile on his face.

Funny how ‘putting a film on’ has become a code for Isak napping beside him.

“Too bad. You haven’t seen _Australia_ yet.”

“You said you stopped being obsessed with Baz Luhrmann when you were eighteen!” exclaims his flatmate, looking exasperated, and a little horrified.

“I didn’t say it was a Baz Luhrmann movie” counters Even.

“I didn’t say that either” comes the retort.

They stare at each other a couple of minutes before he cracks.

“Oh my god. You are such a brat.”

Isak gives him a smile that’s half winning, half snark.

“And you’re such a hipster.”

They laugh a little more. Isak’s giggle such a rare and endearing sound he has half a mind to record it on his phone. Witnessing his relaxed posture is a stark contrast and a welcome change from his recent downtrodden self.

But the smile drops a little as he licks his lips, looking very much on the verge of speaking, trying to pick out his next words with care.

“Hum. You know you can bring her over, if you want. Your girlfriend.”

“Ok?”

His question only seems to make Isak even more nervous.

“I mean. Like.” He pauses. “You haven’t brought her here. And… This is your place too, you know. I don’t mind. As long as you don’t...”

He makes a vague motion with his arm and Even really wants to burst out laughing at the hilariously grossed out scrunched up face. Instead, he lets fondness overcome him for a second.

“Thank you, Isak. I’ll take you up on that.”

Green eyes are back on him, searching, knowing, before he averts them with a quick jerk of his head. He hesitates, doesn’t know how to phrase the question he desperately wants to ask, the question that’s been burning his tongue for months, since Mikael’s first visit. In the end, he settles for a casual remark, hopes he won’t offend his flatmate.

“You know, I don’t mind either, right?”

“Huh?”

“You can bring someone, if you ever… You know. Boy or girl, or anyone, I really don’t mind, okay?”

“Oh.”

Isak’s expression closes off, smile fading. His eyes are still on him and he thinks he sees a battle raging behind them. A battle he himself fought years ago, a battle many people, young and old, face at some point in their lives. To trust, or not to trust. To be brave, take a chance, a risk.

“I...”

Isak swallows audibly. Clears his throat. Hesitates, makes a decision.

“I don’t do that.”

“Meet guys or girls?”

He gives a small shake. His posture almost rigid, shoulders squared, chin jutting forward, eyes meeting his almost defiantly. Ready to defend himself, gearing up for a fight.

“No. I mean. Date people. Sleep with them. I don’t… I… I’m ace. Asexual.”

“Oh.”

He pauses, doesn’t really know what to say. Doesn’t know what how Isak expects him to react.

“I’ve never met someone who was. I’m pan, myself.”

He says that to try and take some weight off Isak but immediately feels stupid as the words leave his mouth. It’s not about him.

“I mean, thank you for telling me. You’re really brave.”

Isak lets out a dark laugh.

“I’m really fucking not. We’ve been living together for six months and I’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell you before and I didn’t.”

He shakes his head, needs Isak to understand.

“Hey, you shouldn’t feel pressured into having to tell someone, least of all me, okay? You don’t owe me anything, Isak. You don’t owe anyone anything. This is about you, you’re all that matters.”

He gets another piercing look, like Isak is trying to figure him out, measuring each word carefully, searching for meaning, looking for the truth behind them.

“I know. I-I don’t care. I’m fine with who I am. It doesn’t always look that way, but I am. I told everyone when I was in high school, so...”

He gives what he probably hopes is a careless shrug but there’s something in it that doesn’t quite sit right with Even. Like he’s deliberately not telling him the truth, at least not all of it. He chooses to ignore that – for now.

“I have no idea what that must have been like, what it’s still like, but I promise you, I will never judge you. And neither would Mikael or any of my friends.”

He lets the words sink in.

“Yeah. I’m not afraid of that. I was just… it took me by surprise, last time. I don’t care. People think what they want, you can’t change that. It’s just… The questions. Having to explain, feeling like I have to justify myself constantly. Most people think there’s something wrong with me, like maybe something bad happened to make me like this. But there’s nothing wrong with not feeling sexual or romantic attraction, you know?”

“There isn’t.” He confirms.

The revelation does make sense in hindsight. Or at least, it explains little details and remarks that bugged him before. In what little time he’s known him, Isak has never expressed interest in anyone, and he feels a bit foolish for missing the clues, for not paying attention.

But most of all, he feels pride. Admiration.

This guy. This man, who looks barely out of his teens, and who’s had to deal with so much, yet still stands tall and proud, ready to defy people, fight for the right to be who he is. His constant struggle to remain true to himself and others about his sexuality is a new connection Even is happy to have with him. It also makes him proud to be standing right next to him in this instant. He understands the difficulty it must have been, the burden and stress, figuring out who he was and coming out to people on top of everything else.

“Do you think you could tell me more?”

Isak gapes at him a little, gives him an uneasy shrug.

“There’s nothing else to say really.”

He doesn’t believe him for one second, knows Isak well enough, has heard many hints to guess that there is indeed a lot more. But he also knows that it’s Isak’s decision, whether or not to tell him. And whatever he does, he’ll respect it.

“Okay” he answers with a reassuring smile, and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.

“Do you want some tea?”

A nod. He leaves Isak for a minute, figures he probably needs time to regroup, sort out his thoughts, breathe a little. When he comes back, to steaming cups of tea in his hands, the young man looks more determined.

“I used to have a crush on Jonas, he says eventually. Or I thought I did. He was dating Eva at the time. And things got complicated, I did some… shitty things. And Eskild found me at a gay bar one night, I thought I was into guys… I wasn’t. He helped me figure things out and eventually I went to live with him and Linn and Noora.”

It’s a lot to digest. He’s aware of the holes in his roommate’s story but on the other hand, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard him talk so much about himself as he has these past few days. He’s not sure what he did to deserve the sudden trust but promises to be worthy of it.

“You should have seen his face when I told him I didn’t want to be a freak. He was so upset he didn’t talk to me for two whole days.”

He sighs.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve, really. I said a lot of fucked-up things that day. But he helped me learn.”

“You were young, and scared, I imagine. But you’re not a freak, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do”, Isak retorts gruffly. “I’ve had time to figure things out since them”

Even gives him a lopsided grin. His smile so wide he thinks he might end up getting stuck like this.

“You’re kind of amazing, Isak Valtersen.”

“Ugh. I’m really fucking not” the young man repeats with another eye roll.

This time, he doesn’t try to stop the laughter bubbling up. Isak’s bashful expression and the light blush on his cheeks make him look younger and kind of adorable. In the end, he joins in the laughter too.

“But seriously, Isak. Thank you for telling me. It really does mean a lot.”

He tries to mask it with a shrug of indifference, and that would have worked well a few months ago, but now Even can clearly spot the relief flooding his flatmate. The small smile gracing his lips is also a dead giveaway.

  
  


Even keeps surprising him. And why that _does_ surprise him, he has no idea. It shouldn’t, really. He’s been living with the guy for a while now, so he should know what to expect. But there he was, just a few minutes ago, gearing up for not quite a fight, but a confrontation of sorts. Ready to defend himself, to justify his “life choices” as many ignorant people put it.

He should have known better than let his insecurities get the best of him. Even is undoubtedly one of the kindest, most open-minded people he’s ever met, and if he didn’t have so many hang ups about coming out to him, he would have done so much sooner.

As it is, Even’s heartfelt smile and acceptance tug gently at his heart, make him feel lighter than he has in ages. He wants to thank him, over and over again – which is stupid, he knows. He can almost hear Eskild tell him he shouldn’t thank people for accepting him as he is. He can’t help it though. Only three people in his life have ever been this kind to him so the concept still feels alien.

“How… How was it, when you came out to your friends?”

Even’s smile falls a bit, but the reassuring, gentle expression remains.

“It was… complicated. I was hypomanic, and I kissed one of them, so...”

In an odd, convoluted way, he does sort of understand the powerlessness Even must have felt, the loss of control at having the chance to come out on his own terms being ripped away from him, even though he knows for a fact that this particular group of people is a lot more accepting than most.

He still has nightmares sometimes, wakes up in a sweat, heart beating painfully against his ribs, whispering “please, not again.” It occurs a lot less frequently now, as a general rule. The past two months notwithstanding. Yet, the feeling itself is still vivid, an automatic response etched into the very core of his being. The opening of his chest, a cold vacuum sucking out all sense of hope and happiness.

And the shame. That old, ever present friend.

“Mikael?” he asks, because he needs to distract himself from these thoughts crawling back up to the surface.

The surprise in Even’s eyes only lasts for half a second.

“That obvious?”

“Not really, but I thought… Maybe.”

Even nods without a word, looks of in the distance. His hands tight around the lukewarm mug.

“We’re still working things out. I mean we’re fine, but I don’t know.”

A too familiar situation. He takes solace in knowing that if Mikael is half the friend Jonas is, he’s probably been over the whole ordeal for years now, only waiting for Even to be over it as well. Things are obviously never so simple. Even and him may be very different people, but he thinks they might share a tendency to hold on to their guilt for too long.

Not that he’s in any position to judge or give any advice – contrary to what Noora seems to be thinking. She’s called him three times already and he still feels at a loss when her voice starts to wobble and she can’t contain her sobs.

He wishes he could help her. Wishes he could help Even, too. At least give him a little nudge in the right direction. He’s done so much for him and Isak doesn’t know how he could ever repay that. Whatever is going on between him and Mikael is not his business though, and he doubts Even’s best friend would appreciate someone he barely knows poking his nose into their issues.

In the end he settles for the words that warmed his heart not long ago.

“Someone once told me that everyone deserves forgiveness. Maybe just talk to him?”

He stops himself. Wonders if he should say the next words that come to his mind. The words that keeps dancing in his head and haunt him every night when he vainly tries to sleep.

“And maybe forgive yourself?”

Even lets out a small chuckle, stares at him with something that vaguely resembles wonder.

“Wow. You’re something else, Isak.”

He supposes that’s a lot better than a flat out rebuke, which is probably what he would have dished to anyone else. The thing is, despite his many, many flaws, Isak is very self aware. So he knows how much of a hypocrite that makes him. But then again, he’s never been good at following his own advice.

But maybe he can make Even understand.

“I broke Eva and Jonas up. When we were in high school.”

It comes out as a whisper, and he hates how vulnerable that makes him sound.

“And Jonas forgave me, so...”

He doesn’t look Even in the eye, doesn’t say that Eva, on the other hand, never forgave him.

“Never pegged you as a homewrecker.” remarks Even with a teasing smile that chases some of the heaviness away.

“Yeah, well. Fifteen year old me was a mess, and a snake. You would have hated me, back then.”

He says it as a joke, speaks the words with a smile he hopes is sincere enough to squash down any potential pity. He’s still a mess, and very much a snake.

“Nah,” counters his flatmate with assurance, “you’re impossible not to like. I mean, especially with those rapping skills. Fifteen year old you was adorable.”

“Ugh.”

Feeling his cheeks growing warm, he wants to roll his eyes at Even – hard – but he also kind of wants to hug him. And that’s new. Whatever he says, whatever he keeps revealing about his past – something of an oddity in and of itself – it seems to leave the older man unruffled and unwavering in his support, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

They continue talking for about an hour, moving to lighter topics, until Even has to actually get ready for his date. He tells him about the kids in his class, the art project they’re all working on. And it doesn’t sound half as snobbish as he expects it to. He’s actually making them create a whole galaxy, complete with planets, stars, asteroids, black holes and everything. Isak doesn’t admit that it sounds all kinds of amazing – he has a reputation to uphold and certainly doesn’t want to inflate the guy’s ego, and he also really doesn’t want Even to think he enjoys listening to him going on a tangent about art. But he guesses the rapt attention with which he listens might give him away.

Even’s eyes are literally twinkling with an infinity of microscopic stars and Isak finds himself both envious at the happiness he longs to experience and genuinely thankful his flatmate gets to enjoy his internship.

He skirts around the topic of his own internship, glosses over the project he’s supposed to be working on, and if Even notices the not so subtle change of topic, he doesn’t comment on it.

He’s thankful for that, too.

  
  


It’s only when Even finally leaves that the realisation hits him. He likes living with Even. The apartment is a genuinely happier place when he’s here. He doesn’t completely erase the anguish that has been eating at him, but he keeps it at bay.

The epiphany leaves him reeling.

It took him almost a year to get to that level of comfort around Linn and Eskild, despite their many, many efforts to make him feel safe and at home. And yeah, the situation was much different back then, he’d just hit rock bottom. His dad and sister had abandoned him, and he’d just run away from the only family he had left, while struggling to put a word on his own feelings. Linn and Eskild, even Noora to a lesser extent, had been his literal saviours.

Even isn’t. He’s different. This guy has been nothing but kind, even when Isak was being a prick. A steady, unassuming support Isak didn’t know he needed or wanted.

He realises how lucky he actually is, to have met him, to live with him. To just have him in his life at all. It’s all temporary of course. Even is happy with a girlfriend who sounds perfect and amazing, and he’ll probably want to move together with her at some point, that’s what couples do, apparently.

And the contract for their apartment only runs until September anyway, which means they’ll go their separate way by the end of the summer.

He’ll miss him, he thinks. He’ll be fine of course, with Jonas, Eskild, Linn and the others in his life, hopefully. Maybe they’ll stay in touch, send the occasional mail or text or whatever. He’s not so good at that, but they could give it a try, prolong their friendship a little while longer. And then. And then.

Maybe he’ll find a new place, alone this time. He could be happy on his own, he doesn’t mind that.

  
  


Even doesn’t come home for lunch the following day, and it’s okay.

Isak made a little too much food, but Even tells him Julie took him out for lunch and it was amazing. His food wasn’t that great anyway, a little undercooked too. He’s not an amazing cook like Even.

He puts the leftovers in the fridge. That could be an actual lunch at the lab. He could share it with his colleagues, work a little more to try and salvage what’s left of his internship.

Even’s got a dopey look in his eyes. The same one Magnus has when he’s with Vilde, and Eskild with Ren.

He wonders, not for the first time, what it feels like. He knows the scientific, pragmatic aspect of it, has read so many books, trying to figure why he was different, why he just can’t _feel_.

He doesn’t see himself ever experiencing this type of emotional connection with anyone, fucked up beyond repair, a deep flaw in his original conception.

Munching quietly on his food, he lends a distracted ear to Even excitedly telling him about his morning with Julie. He even manages to smile at the thought that if someone deserves happiness, it’s Even.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the big, big one! There’s a lot I could write about this chapter, but I’ll keep things short. This story started after I had three scenes in mind. The first one is the quiet afternoon Isak and Even spent just lounging on the couch, watching movies back in chapter 7 (I think). The second one was Isak coming to Even, saying “I don’t do that.” Dunno why, but it stuck with me. Now you understand why I’ve kept telling you that this story isn’t about getting them together.  
More hints about Isak’s high school years. Can anyone start to put the pieces together, I wonder?  
Five chapters left and I can tell you that the boys aren’t going to wear a lot of clothes in the next one (which is almost complete)…  
**Once again, thank you all so much for your patience and support. I hope you’re not disappointed by this turn of events and will stick with me a little longer. **


	16. Chapter 16

Once the idea lodges itself inside his mind, there is nothing he can do to get rid of it. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s there, etched into the fabric of his brain, words carved into the bark of an old oak tree. It stays with him.

Maybe it’s a film he’s seen, a passing remark from Yousef, a look Julie gave him.

Maybe it’s another conversation with Eskild. They have been talking rather frequently lately, long conversations over various instant messages platforms.

Maybe it’s from seeing Isak looking more and more down with each passing day. Shoulders hunched, long hair falling before his eyes, his gaze avoiding his, mouth in a constant downturn. It’s not as apparent as it was before Christmas, but he thinks that’s mostly due to the fact that Isak hides it better. That thought terrifies him. Whatever is happening is eating him alive.

He likes to think they’ve grown closer since their heart to heart, and he’s tried asking him about his internship, his friends, anything. Every single one of his question has been eluded and the topic changed so promptly he almost gets whiplash. From what Eskild tells him, he hasn’t had better luck.

The more time passes, the more he worries that something really bad is going on.

He’s not getting desperate, exactly.

Maybe just a little. So he calls Sana.

Their conversation quickly takes a sour turn when he mentions Isak’s name. It appears he’s underestimated how hurt and angry she actually is. She doesn’t manage to completely hide the worry in her tone but she tells him in no uncertain terms that whatever happened between Isak and her is not his business. He briefly wonders whether she’s refering to their shared past or to something more recent. His only success is to get her to promise she’ll be there for his birthday.

He debates calling Jonas but in the end decides to let Eskild handle that. He’s tried getting him to share more about his best friend already and concludes he doesn’t want to put him in a more difficult position than he already is. He just hope he’ll be on board for what he and Eskild are planning.

Julie, on the other hand, has made her stance very clear from the beginning, claiming this is a very, very bad idea. He’s tried using her own previous arguments against her, to no avail. Knowing there is no way he’s going to let this go, she ended up let out a long sigh, admitting that he knows Isak better than her, but also warning him she’d be the first one to tell him “I told you so” when it all goes to shit, as it inevitably will – according to her.

He shoots a quick message to Eskild, hoping against all hopes he’ll come through. They have little more than a week left.

  
  


Mikael comes over for lunch while Isak is at work. They haven’t seen each other in what seems like an eternity. And that’s new. By new he means, it’s an “after” thing. After the big episode. He and the guys used to hang out all the time, almost every day. Now it’s come to the point where he hasn’t seen any of them since New Year’s. They’ve talked, exchanged messages, commented and liked each others’ posts on social media, but it does not fill the void left by their absence. He fears it might be where their friendship is headed. A few words left on virtual pages. Just ones and zeroes trying to convey meaning and keep relationships alive. He doesn’t know if it’s just part of growing older, a roundabout way of saying they’re growing apart, or if it’s just a case of doomed friendship. He shakes his head, chases his useless worries away.

“January has been insane, right?” confirms Mikael.

And it has, indeed. Insane and amazing. Although they’ve shared the stories many times over the internet, he retells everything about his internship. Mikael listens. He’s heard it all, already, and in great detail, too. But he always listens to his rants, teases him a little, smiles indulgently.

And he enjoys listening to Mikael. He worries a little, but that’s just what he does, who he is. Volunteering at the radio station has become a lifeline for his best friend, who had always destined himself to work in journalism. So working in book editing had definitely not be his first choice but he needed the money at the time, and it had seemed like the reasonable choice, given the circumstances. And Mikael has assured him many times that he doesn’t hate his job, but he knows his best friend well enough to hear the longing in his voice when he talk about a career in radio journalism.

“But hey, I’ll make it. I can feel it, you know?”

He does, and he says so, tells him he firmly believes in him. The wide, genuine smile that lights up his best friend’s face reminds him of how wrong he was to ever doubt their friendship. No time has passed, at all. He’s still sixteen, enjoying a quiet afternoon with one of the people he loves the most.

His own words echo in his mind. _Everyone deserves forgiveness. _

Maybe it’s time he got started on that.

“Hey, Mik?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitates. The kind, earnest expression in his friend’s brown eyes disconcerting. A tsunami of doubts assault him. What if he makes things worse by making them real? What right has he got, bringing up all the hurt, stirring up the past? Perhaps some things are better left unsaid. What does Isak know? What does _he_ know?

“I just… missed you man. I’m glad you’re still my best friend.”

Despite the disappointment washing over at his own cowardice, he basks in his best friend wide grin as Mikael wraps his arms around him in a tight hug.

“You’re such a sap, dude. I love you, too.”

He lets the warmth of the other man’s embrace seep into his weary bones and drown the brief bout of anxiety. He’s glad no one can see the wet smile on his face, knows how much good-natured ribbing his mushy moments usually get him.

They stay like this for a short while before letting go.

“You’re such a sap” repeats Mikael with a small laugh.

“You know you love it.” he retorts with a chuckle of his own.

Mikael doesn’t need to answer, they both know how much he does love it, being almost as big a sap as Even himself.

Stuffing their faces with pastries Even brought back from work in the morning, they move back to their conversation about Mutta.

“Do you think we should be worried?”

“Nah” says Mikael with a dismissive shrug. “You know how he is, he’s just being over dramatic.”

He can’t help but frown a little at that. Mikael is probably right, but something gnaws at his conscience. Mutta really did seem a little down last time they saw him.

“He’s a big baby, you know that.”

“Yeah… You’re right.” he says, uncertainty colouring his tone.

“I know I am. If something is wrong, I know he’ll come to us, and we’ll be there, right? What about you, man? How are things with Julie?”

A dopey smile takes over his face and he doesn’t even try to fight it.

“Things are good. Amazing, actually.”

It might be a slight exaggeration, but he doesn’t care. They haven’t seen each other all that often lately, her job taking up a lot of her time, and he misses her a little.

“You’re so whipped!” exclaims his friend with a laugh.”But you know, I’m glad. She’s really nice. We all like her, and ever more so because we see how happy you are with her.”

He pauses, smile faltering a little.

“You know… We were worried… After Sonja.”

He does know. He remembers them vividly, uncertainly hovering around, concern silent but obvious on their faces, thinly veiled offers of distractions in the forms of parties, vlogs and video game sessions. They were afraid he’d have another episode, just a few weeks after the previous one, made worse by the emotional turmoil he was bound to be experiencing.

They hadn’t accounted for the fact that by the time he and Sonja parted ways for good, what he felt was overwhelming relief.

Things had been far for being that simple and clear cut, of course. Doubt had plagued him for a while, anxiety creeping in whenever he got close to letting his guard down. He’d gone from a long term relationship, something that had a tentacular reach over all aspects of his life to being single and alone. He’d had to move out of the apartment he’d been sharing with Sonja for years, the place he’d come to call home, to his room at his parents, tiny twin bed and movie posters and all.

So when the episode finally stroke in October, barely over a month after moving in with Isak, it hadn’t been much of a surprise. All in all, he thinks he’s adjusted pretty well.

“She’s going to be at the party, right?”

He nods. Mikael is excited for the both of them. They’ve talked about it at length and he’s looking forward to meet Isak’s friends, see Julie again, and just hang out with the guys. It’s a trait they share, the ability to get along with pretty much anyone almost instantly. They both feed off the energy from social interaction, soak up the smiles and laughter, always willing to hug people they’ve just met. It’s one of the many reasons their friendship is so easy.

He has no doubt Mikael will not only enjoy the party, but will also simply enjoy meeting new people. It’s obvious, from what little he’s seen, that he’ll especially get along with Jonas. He can already picture them debating the latest wrongdoings of the capitalist society and the need to rethink modern socialism. Nobody can resist those soulful brown eyes and soft dark hair.

There was a time when he thought he couldn’t.

“Has he called you yet, by the way?” he asks.

“Nah, man. Are you sure he will?”

Even frowns. He wishes he could say he is, but he’s not. Eskild has sworn that he would easily convince Isak but he fears his flatmate’s stubbornness might get in the way.

Still, he nods reassuringly.

“Yeah. He’s a bit busy these days, with his internship and work. And he’s probably a bit shy, but Eskild said he would, so...”

Mikael’s grin is infectious.

“Cool, man. I made sure everyone’s free anyway. We’re all excited. And I’m glad things are better between you guys. It’s a nice thing you’re doing for him.”

“Yeah. I guess.” he simply says.

Truth is, there is a lot more he wants to say. He’d like to share his confidence about the whole thing, but the more he thinks about Julie’s words, the more uncertain he feels. He tells himself that what he and Eskild are doing is for Isak’s benefit, that they both have the best intentions, but he feels uneasy about going behind his friend’s back, aware that it could blow up in both their faces if he ever finds out the truth. Which he won’t, he’ll just have to make sure of that.

He wants to say how important to him Isak’s friendship is becoming. He express how much he cherishes those rare moments when Isak opens up and confides in him, how much he loves those quiet afternoons on their couch, half-whispered jokes and secrets. He wants to show him the latest note he left on the fridge, the new stick figure drawing Isak made. He longs to say how he enjoys the challenge of making his grumpy friend smile and laugh and how his chest does that weird thing when he succeeds.

For some reason he has yet to identify, he keeps silent. He hasn’t given much thought about this, whatever this is. He hasn’t even talked about Isak to anyone lately. He’s assured Julie and his parents that everything was good between them without elaborating further than that.

Those little moments out of time in their small cocoon of a home belong them, and them only. He keeps them to himself, not exactly a secret, but something. Something just for him.

  
  


  
  


The idea is still very much there when Isak comes home from work that afternoon, Mikael long gone, red-cheeked and pursed lips, sour mood following him like a physical presence. That’s been his default setting for the past few days. He’s been oscillating between withdrawn and snappish, and it keeps getting worse.

At least for now, Even has figured out a way to deal with his ill-tempered friend. He’s learned to ignore him altogether when his belligerent attitude is this obvious, so he simply sits on the couch, notes for his next classes on his lap, a film playing on telly.

He doesn’t pay attention to Isak’s narrowed eyes and exasperated huff, pretends not to notice the brusque way his takes off his coat, scarf and shoes, keeps his eyes fixed on the screen when the door behind him slams loudly.

He’s learned this about Isak: he both hates conflict but always expects it – almost looks for it. His constant anger is burning cold and silent, simmering under the surface, ready to explode. At least, he usually tends to isolate himself from others until he deems it safe to rejoin the world of the living once he’s calmed down.

That’s what happens a couple of hours later. Even’s made a lot of progress on his planning for the week and has put a second movie on.

“Are you really watching that shit?” comes the desert dry voice from the kitchen.

His eyes don’t deviate from his notes.

“You know they all fucking die at the end, right?”

His tone has lost most of its bite.

Isak sets two cups full of burning hot tea on their table and lets himself fall heavily on the couch, not bothering to stifle a world-weary sigh. His left big toe is poking out of his sock. Does he even own a single pair that doesn’t have any holes?

Even ignores the remark, again. He knows Isak is just trying to rile him up at this point, because it’s what he does. Half of what he spouts is bullshit destined to annoy the fuck out of him, and he’s never quite sure which is which. But he’s seen that film. He tells him so with a raised eyebrow.

The younger man simply glares back at him, arms crossed, looking like the world’s most petulant child.

Barely half an hour into the film, and an impressively number of irritating sighs, Isak is fast asleep, his head slowly but surely falling on the side.

By the time the movie ends, he feels a soft breath tickling the hair on the side of his neck. Isak has completely fallen on his side and head is an atom’s away from burying in the crook of his neck.

Once again, Even is tempted to thread his fingers to the silky strands. Out of pure scientific curiosity, he tells himself. He just wants to know. It’s not because the half-parted mouth and lax expression gives his flatmate an almost innocent and peaceful air. It’s not.

Thankfully, Isak wakes up with an infinitesimal jerk, meets his gaze with bleary, tired eyes, stifles a yawn, all traces of his previous bad mood gone. He scrambles awkwardly when he realises how close he was to start drooling on his shoulder.

“Ugh. What time is it?”

“Dinner time soon. You missed everyone not-dying.”

“Huh?”

His gaze travels from Even to the TV and back to Even a few times. He knows when he finally makes the connection: he gets an eye roll.

“Do you want to help me make dinner?”

He gets a small smile as an answer, and counts it as a win for tonight.

  
  


The idea is knocks again on the doors of his mind in the morning as he’s having breakfast with Isak – an extremely rare occurrence, since the younger man usually works Sunday morning.

He shrugs off the unasked question and mutters “day off” before going back to sipping his tea distractedly. He’s wearing his favourite oversized woolly jumper again, bare legs hanging from the stools, a shy morning light caressing the side of his face, painting a golden crown of hair.

“How did you sleep?” Even asks between mouthfuls of cereal.

Isak eyes him with a slightly disgusted expression, gives his pancake and jelly a disdainful look.

“Fine. You?”

“Yeah, not too bad” he says with a smile. “Any plans for today?”

“Dunno.”

He flicks the screen of his phone. From his position, Even can see he’s playing some sort of games with dots and lines of different colours.

“Going to the pool later. And then study, probably.”

He hums in understanding. The idea pierces the surface of his minds, sends electric signals to his brain, travels through his vocal chords and out of his mouth.

“Would you mind if I tagged along? To the pool, I mean.”

This effectively distracts Isak from his game as he openly gapes at him.

“You want to go to the swimming pool. With me.” He repeats, half question, half statement, almost as if tasting strange, foreign words on his tongue.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to go for a while actually.”

That’s not even a lie, he has thought about it for a few weeks now.

Isak raises a curious eyebrow at him, not bothering to hide his unconvinced expression.

“It’s true.”

Why he feels the need to defend himself, he doesn’t know, but he pushes on.

“I used to love it as a kid. I just haven’t had the chance to go lately.”

Isak’s stare remains on him for probably longer than necessary, assessing, searching for a truth or a lie. A little sag of his shoulder is his first sign of consent.

“Ok. Sure I guess. Just...”

Now it’s his turn to hesitate.

“You’re probably going to be bored though. I mean, I usually just do laps for about an hour. And I don’t really take breaks, so...”

He’s not quite sure what to make of this new piece of information. Isak and him have never done anything together outside their apartment, and he’d hoped for more interaction. On the other hand, he takes it as the first step it is, their first time hanging out and doing something else than spend hours on the couch.

The prospect of learning more about his flatmate and seeing him in a different environment is also more than a little intriguing.

“Do you even have a swimsuit?”

He throws a cushion at him.

  
  


  
  


Isak looks almost asleep as he watches the city pass them by through half-closed eyes, lost in a faraway world of his own. He’s been doing that a lot lately. He’ll stare a the telly or his books with unseeing eyes before shaking himself back to reality.

He’s hasn’t slept much, if at all last night. Again.

Even wonders what he sees, wonders where his thoughts take him, worries he lets himself disappear in that sad and gloomy space he can’t seem to get out of.

He wonders what Isak sees when he looks at the world around him. Wonders what he sees when he looks at him.

“Great conversation” he remarks with a smile, pulling his silent friend back from the depths of his mind.

His smile grows wider at the bashful expression, tongue passing between his lips.

He’s never really cared about others’ opinions of him. It hadn’t been so simple in Bakka, especially in the aftermath of… everything. But he’d learned since then not to let others’ views affect him.

Of course, Mikael and the boys are different, and so is Julie.

And Isak. Because this guy whom he’d ever only met in passing prior to the last six months has managed to worm his way into his life in a way he didn’t expect, and it’s hitting him just now, as they sit across each other on the bus taking them to the swimming pool.

Does Isak recognise it as a stepping stone, the same way he does?

“Something wrong?’

“Huh?”

Isak eyes him, unimpressed, and maybe a touch shy.

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry. I just… Thanks for letting me come with you.”

The younger man gives a little shrug.

“Wait a little before thanking me.”

He’s oddly touched by his flatmate’s concern. Despite his increasing bad mood, Isak hasn’t stopped caring. He never outwardly expresses it, but Even sees it in his casual remarks and small attentions.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I love swimming.”

Isak gives him another dubious looks but remains quiet, deciding to let it go, for now at least. His eyes drift back to the window.

“How did you get into it?” he asks.

The younger man shrugs again.

“Pretty randomly. It was just something to do. And it helped with stress and stuff.”

He licks his lips a little, explains how Mahdi had originally been the one who got him to give it a try back in their second year, how awkward and stupid he’d felt at first, surrounded by these people who looked like they actually belong in the water.

“I was a scrawny runt back then, and everyone around looked like… well.”

He makes a vague gesture.

“But I guess I was too stubborn to give up,” he adds with a small self-deprecating chuckle.

That doesn’t surprise him in the least. If there’s anything he knows about his flatmate, it’s how stubborn he gets. It’s not a hard picture to imagine. Tiny, fifteen year old Isak, snapback on his head, chin jutted forward, walking determinedly to the swimming pool just to prove others he could actually to it.

Teenage Isak must have been something else.

  
  


Isak greets the young woman behind the counter like an old friend. Somewhere between her late twenties and early thirties, she’s wearing a dark blond hair in a loose ponytail and an oversized bright yellow t-shirt. She nods barely checks the small white plastic card he shows her as he heads to the changing rooms on their right. Even quickly pays and follows him.

He’s never been one to care too much about his looks. And maybe he does spend a little more time than most people doing his hair in the morning and picking his clothes, sure. But that’s about it, really. He doesn’t count the number of calories he ingests every day – which is probably a good thing, considering – and doesn’t go to the gym. In fact, he’s never set foot in one. He doesn’t post selfies on Instagram with hashtags such as #legday or #fitguy or a motivational tagline that people his age seem so fond of sharing. That’s not to say he doesn’t understand the people who do, doesn’t understand the need validation, he does. It’s just not him. He’s not an athlete, he’s not ripped but he likes the naturally toned body good genes have blessed him with.

It might have taken some time to get there, but he’s comfortable in his own skin. So seeing near naked, muscled bodies all around him is definitely not going to fuel any insecurity.

However, he’s definitely not ready for the sight that greets him when he sees Isak coming out of the cabins, a towel on his shoulder, goggles around his neck, wearing nothing but a pair of black jammers that accentuate his… everything. Quickly masking his surprise, he averts his eyes.

He’s always known Isak is a beautiful guy. He might not be lusting after him, but he’s not blind. He’s knows how to appreciate beauty and he’s caught himself staring at the lush curls more than once, the cupid bow and deep green eyes. Isak is objectively gorgeous.

What he hadn’t realised before today, is how incredibly fit his flatmate is. The lack of regular meals is sadly still very much apparent but it does not take away the fact that Isak has muscles. A lot of them.

As they step under the showers, he discreetly peeks at his friend currently covering his hair with a swimming cap that would probably make him dorky if it wasn’t for the water trickling down his strong chest and taut stomach, drawing rivulets on expanse of pale, unblemished skin.

Following him into the pool, he wills himself no to flush and keeps his eyes up, fixed on Isak’s neck, definitely not staring at the wide shoulders, back muscles. He definitely does not let his gaze travel lower down his roommate’s slender body.

Standing in less than a meter of water, Even finds a new challenge in trying not to openly gape at him, stretching right next to him. So he focuses on the water itself – a lot colder than he expected and the people around them – swimmers like Isak, but mostly families and kids just waddling around.

One thing he’d forgotten was how loud everything is. Every single sound echoes and comes back to him in a mix of shrill splashes and laughter. He’s not sure how long he could bear that.

Isak doesn’t seem to notice, he just hands him a pair of googles.

“They’re my spare ones. Figured you wouldn’t have any. And chlorine fucking stings.” he says with a small smile.

He looks almost alien with his swimming cap and dark goggles. It makes his face sharper than it usually appears. Gone is the softness that he’s come to associate with his flatmate. Here, he’s all sharp angles and stretched lines.

Grateful for the thoughtfulness, although not at all surprised he nods and watches him launch in self in a swift and graceful arc.

Isak vanishes under the surface and reappears already half-way to the other end. A couple of strokes and he promptly turns back, slices through the water with impressive speed and reaches Even again.

He does a quick flip turn and swims away with hypnotic strength.

Even watches him for a while before finally moving to the lane right next to Isak’s and starts swimming as well. He goes more slowly, enjoys the soft caress of the cool water on his skin, the feeling of weightlessness relaxing his muscles in a way he’d long forgotten.

He does a few laps, tries not to get in the way of other people while also avoiding kick from over enthusiastic children. At some point, he goes for a quicker pace but barely does two laps before having to stop to catch his breath. Swimming didn’t use to be so exhausting, of that much he’s sure.

Isak comes to a stop beside him, and he’s not even a little out of breath. That can’t be normal.

“You okay?”

He nods.

“Yeah, just… enjoying the water. This is nice.”

He moves his arms around a bit awkwardly. Isak looks at him, head cocked on the side. He can’t see his eyes with those goggles, only his own reflection and it’s not a flattering one: he looks like a drowned rat.

Whether he finds what he’s looking for, he doesn’t know, but Isak gives him a jerky nod before disappearing under the surface again, barely making a splash.

Plunging his head underwater is akin to entering a whole different universe. A world so alien that makes him feel like an intruder. Sounds are both muffled and louder. Finding Isak in the throng of flailing limbs is easy. His spear-like precision, piercing the water in a fluid yet strong motion is a fascinating and unexpected display of physical strength.

He follows him from a distance, transfixed by the almost elegantly slow undulations of his body before losing his track.

Unfortunately, Isak was right. Half an hour in, and boredom starts creeping in. He’s stopped actively swimming long ago, his own body not quite used to the physical exertion, content to the just float idly and watch the people around him. But the noise is finally getting to him.

He all but flees to find a secluded shallow pool. He breathes a sigh of relief at finding it empty and lets the water support the weight of his body. He puts his head under, closes his eyes and lets the warmth and silence progressively ease the tension.

  
  


It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when he feels Isak more than he sees him approaching slowly. He opens his eyes just in time to see him vacillate as he enters the water. Before words of concern escape his mouth, a tiny drop of water slowly rolling down, drawing a small, shiny river catches his eyes as light hits it, making it glitter briefly as it travels from the side of Isak’s neck to his pectoral, down across his ribs to his navel. He gulps and forces his eyes back to the ceiling.

Isak lets himself fall next to him in one smooth motion, cheeks slightly flushed, his chest heaving a little.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… Just a little light headed. I hope you weren’t too bored.”

Even shakes his head. Doesn’t want to disappoint the younger man. He’s actually a little worried by how exhausted Isak is looking, but chooses not to say anything. There will be time for that soon enough. For now, he just wants to enjoy this.

“I actually really like it here. If you put your head underwater, it’s very peaceful. Want to try?”

Facing him beneath the surface, he’s struck by the image of Isak looking almost angelic. Without his cap and goggles, his hair is floating around him, moving lazily like a gold cloud, his eyes wide, and so, so green, a few bubbles slipping past his lips.

Sadly, it’s a very short display.

“Is that all you can do?” asks Even incredulously as they both surface.

He almost laughs out loud at his flatmate’s offended expression.

“What? Seriously? I’m the master of holding my breath!”

“Oh really? Okay, let’s see then!” He challenges, knowing how competitive Isak will get.

“You’re on!”

“One, two, three.”

And they go again. They barely last twenty seconds staring at each other. Isak is flailing a bit, trying to keep himself submerged and Even has no doubt that he’s actually terrible at holding his breath.

Isak is coughing and spluttering loudly, absolutely no trace of exaggeration as the emerge. He tries to claim victory but it comes out as gurgle.

“The master? Wow.” mocks Even with a laugh. “You’re terrible.”

“I got a drop of water in my throat!” exclaims Isak indignantly.

And that’s the most ridiculous thing Even has ever heard. His friend’s briefly annoyed expression gets a short bark of laughter out of him.

Deciding to forgo any more breath holding competition, they lie on their back and let their bodies float. His stretched hand almost grazes Isak’s.

He closes his eyes, forgets the world and imagines.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of a famous and wise woman: I aten’t dead.   
As always thank you all so much for your support. Reading and replying to your comments help more than you can ever know, and I really do appreciate your support.


	17. Chapter 17

Something is going on with Even. It’s subtle, a slight shift, not exactly noticeable, he thinks. He rambles more than usual, sometimes barely meets his eyes. And he broke two glasses. Even doesn’t break glasses, he’s the type of guy who could probably juggle five glasses with his eyes closed. Even is the master of cool, or least, he wants people to believe he is. Isak knows better though. He knows Even’s really just a giant dork. The thought of Even acting odd unsettles him, to the point where he begins doubting himself. Maybe it’s just him and his rampant paranoia and overactive imagination, but he believes, deep down, that he now knows his flatmate well enough to pick up on the small, seemingly unimportant details.

It’s been going on for about a week, maybe longer, he’s not sure any more. He’s not sure of anything, really. The lack of food and sleep and the constant anxiety eating at him make it hard to think. He barely even functions at this point.

He knows he’s going to break, soon. He’s a scientist, he knows enough about human physiology and human psyche to understand where this is all going. Try as he might, there’s no denying that he’s just been delaying the inevitable.

Just last Sunday, it took all he had not to pass out in front of his flatmate, right there at the swimming pool. Admittedly, it might have been a terrible idea to let Even come with him but he’d let himself get surprised and a little excited at the older man’s enthusiasm.

Luckily enough, when he did eventually pass out, it was in the confines of his own bedroom.

Even’s apparent nervousness is doing nothing to assuage his own anxiety, and the last thing he wants is to add to that burden. He definitely doesn’t need another person to add to the ever-growing list of people who know how incredibly fucked up he is.

Eskild’s probably right, he supposes. Maybe a good party is what they need. He’s been so focused on his own issues that he’s forgotten the very person he lives with and is reminded of the saying Noora had on a little paper pinned to her wall back in the Kollektiv. Everyone is fighting their own battle is something he tends to easily forget, so caught up in his own head.

Even deserves a better roommate, but as long as he’s stuck with him, he can make an effort to be better. Swallowing his pride, guilt, and foreboding sense of doom, he spends the week making phone calls and arrangements. Well, he makes a few, and Eskild makes the rest.

They’re throwing Even a birthday slash housewarming party.

He’s still not entirely confident that Even will enjoy the presence of Isak’s friends in addition to his own, but Eskild insisted, and he knows better than than to fight him once he’s set his mind on such an endeavour.

In a matter of days, it’s all organised. Coincidentally, Even has planned to spend the whole of Saturday out with his girlfriend, claiming they haven’t spent nearly enough time together those past few weeks. He’s also planning on cooking her dinner at the apartment while Isak is supposedly spending the night at Jonas’.

  
  


Eskild comes over on Saturday, just before lunch time, in a neon yellow shirt and tight purple trousers. Arms full of provisions, announcing he’s going to make sure Isak’s cooking and baking skills are up to par with the challenge ahead, like Isak hasn’t been cooking for himself and others since the tender age of thirteen.

He would feel himself bristle at the very thought of Eskild thinking him inadequate – he gets enough of that from himself and everyone else on a daily basis – but he knows it’s all in jest. Eskild actually does love his cooking and his real reason for helping might be to sample the goods before anyone else does. He might also have been worried about the state of Isak’s finances if he’s to buy food for a party of a dozen people but has thankfully refrained from saying it outloud.

The afternoon passes in a rush. Eskild does help – minimally – and makes sure to taste every single thing Isak prepares, offering comments, hums and aaah’s. He tries his best to distract Isak from his own thoughts, must have picked up on the tell-tale dark circles under his eyes and the not quite hidden shaking of his hands.

He doesn’t pry though, and that is another cause to worry. Isak know he’s desperate to ask questions.

  
  


Scowling briefly at the music playing in the background, some shitty, cheery pop playlist Eskild insisted on, he tugs his flour-stained shirt over his head and grabs a cleaner one. The chocolate cake he made for Even is now resting in the oven, Eskild is sprawled on the couch, on the phone with Ren who was supposed to come but is apparently not going to make it.

Colours in the sky have started ebbing away, fading into a dark, heavy grey. The streets are bathed in dim orange light, stone shining with the morning’s rainfall.

Vision slightly blurry, he tries to focus on his breathing. Deep, slow exhales.

Tonight is just another moment he needs to get through. Ensure Even has a good time, don’t fuck up in front of his friends and girlfriend, avoid his own friends as much as possible.

Tomorrow, he’ll figure something out. He’ll go through job ads again, there’s bound to be something. And if push comes to shove, he can go for the nuclear option. Not like he hasn’t thought about it before.

Everyone will be disappointed, again. And he’ll have to face his mother’s kind, sad look. Feeling his eyes start to prickle, he lets out a long, shaky breath.

  
  


Even’s group of friends arrives first, loud, boisterous, with contagious grins on their faces. Elias, Yousef, Mikael and two other guys he thinks he’s seen from a distance a couple of times. he’s relieved when they don’t go for brief hugs and instead settle on short, awkward handshakes. Eskild doesn’t have the same hangups obviously and hugs them all like they’re old friends.

He wishes he was this open and carefree sometimes.

Jonas follows not ten minutes after, Magnus in tow. He hasn’t seen them since New Year. They’ve talked a bit, mostly hellos in passing via messaging apps. He tells himself they’re all busy, beginning of the year, internship and class and everything.

The thought that maybe they’re avoiding him just as he’s avoiding them is one he can’t shake though. The awkwardness between them is almost palpable and he knows he’s to blame for it. Try as he might, things have been tense since that evening in December, and he hasn’t managed to completely forgive them. Letting go was never his forte.

So they keep doing this odd dance where they pretend everything is fine, despite the fact that they know it’s not, although they can’t quite tell what’s wrong. He knows it won’t be long before one of them breaks the status quo. He also knows it won’t be him.

He quickly introduces them to Even’s friends before busying himself in the kitchen.

The girls arrive as a group. He’s almost envious of the fact that no matter what happens, where they live or what they’re doing, they always seem to be able to find each other and keep their tight knot friendship going strong.

Noora isn’t among them unfortunately tonight. She called him last night again to apologise and admit that she wasn’t ready to face the girls. He’s tried coaxing her into talking to them, at least to Sana or Eva – he knows they’re worried – but understands that she needs more time. He thinks the only reason she confides in him is because they’re not actually that close. Or maybe because he’s the only one who’s as miserable as she is. It still surprises him when she does call, and he’s told her that, an off-hand comment, a self-deprecating joke, because he’s good at those. She just huffed and said she liked talking to him. Which must be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to him.

He manages to dodge Vilde trying to hug him yet again, and is thankful when the others don’t. Sana barely spares him a glance and Eva goes for an awkward smile. Chris is playing with a lollipop and wearing a unicorn hat. She waves at him, friendly grin and sparkling eyes. Linn detaches herself from her arm before slowly marching up to him.

She fixes him with a long stare and he stays rooted on the spot, his hand still holding the apartment door open.

“Hey Linn.” he says, his voice a lot shakier than he likes.

Eventually, they step into each others arms. He swallows painfully, his throat constricting as he blinks tears that prickle his eyes.

“I’ve missed you.”

He doesn’t know if it’s his voice or hers, but is certain they both feel it. He hangs on to her tight, lets her warmth ease his frayed nerves.

Time does a weird thing. It slows down for a moment, then speeds up again and suddenly he feels a pair of arms engulfing them and a voice screeching Linn’s name in his ears. Although tempted to roll his eyes hard at his former flatmate, he decides to let himself enjoy the embrace, feels the tension in his body ebbing away for the first time in a while.

  
  


Waiting for Even to arrive means having to play host, meaning smile, interact and talk to people. It’s very low on his list of things he enjoys, and very high on the one of things he hates. Greeting everyone has already sucked up what little energy he had left, but he forces himself to make an effort. He goes to the girls, puts on a smile and asks them what they’ve been up to, ignores the sharpness of Sana’s look and her unspoken wariness. He listens to Vilde’s latest inane stories about her last outing with Magnus, contributes minimally to Chris’s ideas for redecorating their apartment.

He makes a somewhat decent effort to talk to Even’s friends, already engrossed in an animated debate with Jonas and Magnus. He forces himself to answer to Mikael’s kind smile with one of his own, hopes that he’s forgotten about their awkward first meeting. He probably hasn’t, but is thankfully too polite to mention it.

  
  


It’s just a little after 19h when he hears the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door and shushes everyone.

Even’s voice is clear in the complete silence of the apartment.

“That’s weird, the lights are on.”

A short moment later, the man himself appears, immediately followed by someone he assumes is his girlfriend Julie, cheeks slightly red from the cold outside, hair unruffled and fluffy.

They both stop short upon discovering the group of people gathered in the living room, waiting for them, mouth drawn in perfect o’s.

“Hum. Happy birthday?” says Isak awkwardly, hating how it sounds more like a question than a statement.

Even’s eyes widen in surprise while is girlfriend’s lips stretch into a happy grin. And suddenly, all hell breaks loose as Even’s friends shout and jump at him. They all hug and laugh and smile, slap each other on the back. Eskild is the first to follow, the rest of their guests trailing close behind.

Even is flushed with happiness and excitement when he approaches him at last, eyes sparkling, still holding Julie’s hand.

“Hey, Isak.”

He musters his best smile, wants to convey how happy he is for his flatmate, in spite of his own rising anxiety.

“Hey. Happy birthday.” He repeats.

“Thank you. I can believe you did this!”

He shrugs briefly.

“Eskild helped. A little.”

The look Even is one of pure wonder. It’s only slightly exaggerated. He rolls his eyes at him for good measure, can’t help the smirk making its way on his face.

“Oh. This is Julie, by the way!”

He holds out his hand, smiles again, a little more subdued but sincere.

“Isak. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Isak. I feel like I know you already.” she answers in a soft, kind voice.

He pretends to be terrified at the thought of Even talking to him about her, which has her laughing in an inelegant but endearing snort.

It’s not hard to see why his flatmate is so taken with her. She’s beautiful, of course. Petite, dark skinned, long curly auburn air and intelligent, yet kind almond-shaped eyes. But more than that, he thinks, is the way she speaks and carries herself. There’s an air of subtle determination and quiet strength about her that. She reminds him of Sana in the sense that she doesn’t seem to be the type to take bullshit from anyone.

She explains that she’s a social worker, which makes sense, he supposes. There’s a hint of barely concealed dark circles under her eyes, reminding him of Even’s mention about the long hours she’s been working lately.

For half a second, it looks like she’s thankful when he moves the topic from her job to more mundane things like her boyfriend’s snobbish tastes on movies, but he quickly dismisses the thought as a figment of his imagination.

They’re both cackling at her impression of Even’s latest rant about Moonrise Kingdom – she has Even’s weird eyebrow thing down to a T – when he realises that it’s only the two of them. The others have scattered all around the kitchen and the living room, most of the girls lounging on the couch while Even’s group plus Eskild and Jonas are loitering in the kitchen.

“Shit. I’m a terrible host.” he says hastily. “Do you want anything to drink? We’ve got alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Likesorange juice, and maybe apple, I think. Beers, if you like, and some wine. Food as well, I made some toast, they’re not great but...”

He trails of nervously, finds himself desperate for her to have a good time. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Even throwing his head back, laughing at something Elias is saying.

“Don’t worry Isak, it’s all fine. But I’ll have a beer, if you don’t mind.”

He nods emphatically and rushes to the fridge, carefully dodging Magnus and Vilde already dancing to their own, imaginary song.

Beers in hands, he barely shuts the fridge before seeing Even leaning against the sink, eyes on him.

“Oh, sorry. Did you want one?”

“I’m good.”

He holds up his own beer.

“I’m glad you and Julie are getting along.” says Even. “It means a lot.”

“Oh. Hum. She’s great.”

Embarrassed at his own lack of eloquence, he focuses on uncapping the bottles.

“She is. I knew you guys would get on.”

“She’s easy to get along with. We have a lot in common, you know.” says Isak with a smile.

Even raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we both put up with you and your shitty movies, and terrible singing.”

He tries, and probably fails spectacularly to contain a wide grin at the older man’s offended expression and dramatic reaction.

“What?” he exclaims, putting a hand on his heart. “How dare you! I’ll have you know that people would pay a lot of money to hear me sing. The voice of an angel, I’ve been called.”

He guffaws loudly.

“Fallen angel then!”

“Ugh. To be mocked in my own home! And you can judge my movies, you always fall asleep through them.”

“It’s my home too,” he retorts. “And that’s just proving my point.”

Even gently nudges his shoulder.

“Should have known you two would gang up on me.” he says with a quiet chuckle.

They both smile at each other for a few seconds, the sounds of the people around them dimming a little.

“That song, though?”

“Huh?” is Isak’s eloquent answer.

“Come on! It’s a classic!”

He mouths the lyrics and it takes Isak a few seconds to recognise the song. He must probably look comically ridiculous when he does because Even suddenly looses his focus and bursts out laughing.

“Are you serious? Lene Marlin?”

“She’s a national treasure, Isak,” counters his flatmate, with what he would describe as a way too serious face combine with such a wrong statement.

“Ugh. I can’t be friends with you any more.”

“Come on! Dance a little!” insists Even, hips swaying a little.

He looks like a proper idiot. A very endearing one.

  
  


Julie seems to be in a deep conversation with Eva when he makes his way back to her.

Had Sana not been present, Eva would have topped his list of the people he’d least expected to come. As it is, she’s probably here more out of tradition than anything else. Maybe her not coming over, when she always accompanies the girls everywhere, would have been a much more glaring oddity.

He prides himself on his almost imperceptible falter as he gets to them, barely entertaining the thought of turning back or seeking an escape route. Let it be said that he can be a half-decent host, even in the face of people who resent him.

Julie accepts her drink with a grateful smile.

He pulls his own to his lips and is about to take a sip when he notices Eva’s eyes on the bottle and realises how empty handed she is. Holding it out to her, he ignores her almost shy thank you. He’ll just have to get one for himself later, then.

“Someone seems to be having a good time.” remarks Julie with a smile.

Even is laughing again, open and loud, the corners of his eyes crinkling, hair catching the golden glow of the kitchen lights, still half-dancing like the dork he is.

“I’m glad,” says Isak. “I really want him to enjoy his party, he deserves it.”

“I’m happy he has you as a flatmate, I know you guys being friends mean a lot to him.”

The ball forming in his throat at Julie’s words is a surprise, but not an entirely unwelcome one. He doesn’t have anything intelligent to reply to that.

“Sounds like he’s good for you, too,” adds Eva.

He can’t help the tremor in his hands. She probably means well, or maybe she doesn’t mean anything, perhaps just saying one those meaningless phrases one expect in this kind of social situations, but the memories they dredge up wash over him like a glacial torrent of unpleasantness. He doesn’t know if he’s completely successful at maintaining a neutral expression and polite smile, but as the atmosphere significantly grows colder, he wishes he’d just gone and fetched another beer.

  
  


The genuine, happy expression on Even’s face as he blows the candles, the loud cheers and clapping, the exclamations and well wishes, the almost muted music, all start getting to him. The tension building up, almost physically seeping in through the pores of his skins, is undeniably obvious.

Or so it must be to more than a few people, if the looks he’s caught are anything to go by. Jonas and Eskild are definitely not subtle in their worry about him. He’s dodged a few attempts at conversations already, and doubts that any of them plan on giving up. Sana is a different story. She doesn’t seem overly worried, but she does look, although she’s better at pretending she doesn’t. But he’s caught her stare a couple of times as well. Curious and calculating. She hates not knowing, and what’s more, she hates that she wants to know. They’re slightly alike in that fashion, both too proud to admit a mortal sin such as curiosity, much preferring playing up affected aloofness. Unfortunately for the both of them, they’ve been subjected to those dissecting looks themselves a whole lot more than they like.

Even opening his presents is another blow to his already precariously composed detachment. He jumps excitedly in Mikael’s arms over a brand new camera. His gang of friends have pooled their money together and got him the model he’s been rambling about for the past few months. It’s a nice looking thing. Heavy, slick, black, shiny. They list off features, getting more and more enthusiastic as they go.

It all goes over his head. All he sees is the joyful grin, the awed expression.

And all he hears is his own voice, repeating over and over again that he didn’t get Even anything, too busy writing down a few ideas to come up with next month’s rent.

He’s not the only one, obviously. Jonas and Magnus didn’t buy a present either, and neither did the girls. But they barely know him, Sana notwithstanding.

There’s no way around it, no excuses, no valid reason. Even doesn’t seem to realise it, or is gracious enough to mention it, just squeezes his shoulder, smiles brightly at him, thanks him for the party, the food, and the cake. Isak almost wants to punch him for being so _nice_, he hates it.

His own smile probably comes out more like a grimace, barely refraining from rolling his eyes at Even’s gratitude. Only his flatmate would be grateful for some bland, basic food and a stupid chocolate cake.

Accidentally meeting Julie’s concerned gaze, he shrugs off the older man and goes to get himself a beer. Oddly enough, it’s getting close to 23:00 and he’s barely had a drop of alcohol yet. If he was paranoid, he’d think people keep stealing his drinks on purpose. In reality, he’s just surrounded by a bunch of lazy fucks.

  
  


Not five minutes later, he’s cornered by Jonas, again, who accuses him of avoiding him and Magnus. Which is fair, because he has. He doesn’t admit that his patience with his friends has run paper thin since that evening two months ago, that everything they say or do rub him the wrong way and feel like a roundabout personal attack. He doesn’t say it because even he knows how much of a bad friend this makes him. He doesn’t say it because this awkward status quo where they all toe a very fragile line is better than the resentment threatening to take over.

He’s fine as long as they stick to their distances. But Jonas was never good at that. Jonas pushes and pushes, until he gives up, and that’s exactly what Isak’s hoping he will do, just like he did that last time.

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Even talking to Eva, the former briefly glancing at him a few times until Eskild and Magnus approach, wrap their arms around Jonas’ shoulders.

“Any luck?” asks Eskild, swaying a little drunkenly.

He doesn’t miss the way Jonas’ eyes widen slightly, his mouth opening briefly before setting into a firm line.

“It’s like trying to pull his teeth out.”

“Ew!” exclaims Eskild, with an almost amusing grossed out expression. “Come on, Baby J! Tell us what’s going on with you, you don’t talk to us any more.”

It takes every ounce of what very little self control he has left not to bite out a harsh rebuke, sneer at their disgustingly candid faces. He loves his friends, he does, but he wishes, not for the first time, they would just butt out, get the message that he doesn’t want to talk to them, and leave him the hell alone.

The last thing he wants is their pity.

Instead, he just brushes them off, in that way he’s become so adept at, jokes that his internship and job have been sucking the life out of him. He adds extra details, embellishes with a story about his co-workers, rambles about a new project he’s been asked to work on.

Jonas doesn’t buy it, because of course he doesn’t. Jonas isn’t stupid, he knows him well enough. The other two nod with expressions of concern, words of encouragement – slightly slurred in Eskild’s case – but Jonas just stares at him in that annoying way of his.

His eyes say “You know I know you’re talking bullshit.”

Isak ploughs through, ignores him, ignores the attempts at a silent conversation. When he finally deems it polite enough, he excuses himself to the bathroom, because locking himself in his bedroom is admitting that Jonas is right about whatever he’s probably thinking, and that is obviously not an option.

  
  


He’s just going to freshen up, take a piss, whatever excuse his friends buy. But really, all he wants is to flee, escape them. He’s not proud to admit to himself that he’s going to hide in the bathroom of his own home, at a party he helped happen, because it sounds absurd, and more than a little pathetic.

He lets himself sag against the door behind him, a relieved and tired sigh escaping him, when he realises he’s not alone.

One of Even’s friend is there, sitting on the toilet.

“Oh, shit. Sorry!” he exclaims, already fumbling to leave the room.

“It’s fine, man. I’m not doing anything, I’m just sitting.”

And he is, actually. Completely dressed, he notes with a relieved thought. He’s one of the two guys he’s never talked to before tonight. _Mutta_, if he remembers correctly.

“I was just...”

He cuts himself off, not sure what to say, unwilling to confess that he was actually looking for a place to hide without really hiding.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man. I understand. Needed a bit of quiet too. It gets a bit much, you know?”

He barely refrains from letting out a bitter chuckle. Mutta has no idea. He hesitates for half a second before locking the door and sliding on the floor. Bringing his knees to his chest, he just nods mutely.

“Yeah, it does.”

Silence stretches between them, the distant sounds of the party coming in a muffled jumble. The lone, sad lightbulb on the ceiling bathing the room in dull blueish hues. He’s under no illusion that Eskild has picked up on his running away, even in his inebriated state. He’s been watching him like a hawk all day, unnervingly following his every move, biting his lips as if ready to ask a thousand questions. It must be bad, he thinks, for Eskild to show so much self restrain.

“It’s hard, pretending everything is fine all the time, isn’t it?”

He lifts his head in surprise, finds Mutta’s eyes on him, half curious, half understanding. It’s precisely the kind of look he hates and it’s only politeness that prevents him from snapping at the guy.

“I mean, with the guys, we’re like...”

Mutta frowns, searching for words, his face twisting in a brief flash of anguish.

“Happy all the time. Telling jokes and shit. Constantly. But it’s just… I mean, I know things with Even aren’t exactly fine, not really. Especially him and Mik. And I’ve got...”

He pauses again, looks away. That’s when Isak realises that Mutta’s not okay. That beneath the happy-go-lucky exterior lies something not so joyful. He barely knows him, has officially met him for the first time a couple of hours ago, but feels a tug in his heart at the obvious distress.

Mutta lets out a trembling sigh.

“I met someone and it’s… not going great.”

“Oh.”

He swallows, tries to come up with something, anything to say.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t bother you with this.” says Mutta, his shoulders sagging a little.

Isak breathes through his nose, then makes a decision. Standing a little unsteadily, he takes a few steps before sitting down again, a little closer this time, just across from Mutta.

“You can talk to me, if you want. I mean, I don’t mind. I’m not...” he stutters slightly. “I mean… I’ll listen.”

He’s probably the last person on Earth anyone should come to with relationship stories. Scratch that, he’s the last person on Earth anyone should come to with any kind of story. But that hasn’t stopped Noora, and at the very least, he can listen. Anything else might be way out of his department, but listening is something that he can do, and Mutta certainly looks like he needs it.

Even’s friend stares at him for what seem like minutes, before smiling softly.

“Thanks, Isak.”

Then he starts to speak, slowly, and shyly at first.

He’s been playing an online game, an MMORPG, he says. He gets a little lost in the details, explain the story a little and the game mechanics. It all sounds interesting, if a bit confusing. The last game Isak’s played is Mario Kart, and even that was a while ago.

He’s part of a guild, a group of people who play together through various events and activities in the game. The guys – Even’s group – don’t play, it’s kind of his own secret garden, he says, except it’s not a secret, not really. Which he’s why this little group of people he’s never actually met in real life have actually become close friends.

Although he’s never really been into gaming himself, Isak would be lying if he said he didn’t understand the want to get lost in a different universe and have a group of friends there with him, people he could talk to but keep at arms length at the same time. He understands how the virtual aspect of that friendship allows Mutta to share things he doesn’t share with the rest of the so-called Balloon Squad. He gets a bit over-enthusiastic about the game, shows him some videos and artworks – it does do look gorgeous.

Then he gets to the crucial part of his story: his meeting with a beautiful guardian. And by guardian, he means her in-game class, and by beautiful he means her soul, which makes Isak internally roll his eyes _hard_, because he says it with such sincerity it’s absurdly adorable and makes him more than a little uneasy.

He goes on about how they started playing together, first casually and then a lot more frequently. It started with scheduled playtime with meeting spots in the virtual world where conversations about the game itself turned to longer talks about their lives and the outside world. Before long they were communicating via voice chat.

It all came to a head three weeks ago when Mari revealed she lives in Oslo and asked him to meet over coffee.

“I said yes, of course,” says Mutta. “We’ve spent so much time talking, I feel like I know her already. And I think we really like each other.”

Isak just nods. It must be nice, that moment when you start liking someone, when you learn things about each other. Shared interests, different tastes, in-jokes and all. He wonders if it’s how it was for Even and Julie. He doesn’t believe he could do that, though. It sounds like a lot of risk, putting yourself out there, be open, just to end up left alone when people realise they don’t actually like you all that much. He should know.

He doesn’t say anything, just waits for the inevitable “but”.

Mutta sighs.

“But then, I freaked out. I keep thinking of all the ways it could go wrong. What if she doesn’t like me? What if I say the wrong thing? What if...” He trails off, a defeated shrug suddenly making him look exhausted.

“So, I’ve just… I keep coming up with excuses. And I know she can tell something’s off, and she’s… Well.”

He lowers his head, threads his hand into his longish dark hair.

Isak stares at him, willing himself to find words of wisdom and comfort. His mind draws blank. He stays rooted on the sport, mouth half open, ready to pour out empty, meaningless words But he can’t. Mutta just bared his heart to him and he can’t say anything worthwhile in return, just as he expected.

“I’m sorry” is what he settles on eventually. “I wish I could help you, but I’m like, the worst person to come to for this kind of advice.”

He lets out a laugh, hoping Mutta doesn’t notice how forced and bitter it really is. But the guy lifts his head and actually smiles at him.

“Don’t worry about it man. Just talking helps, really.”

He wishes he could believe that. What he believes is that people hide behind words, use them to deflect and pretend. Words are meaningless.

“I’m sure you’ll meet her when you’re ready” he says simply, figuring that’s probably something Eskild would say.

“In the meantime, you’re welcome to hang out here, you know. We’ve got a Wii. I even have Jonas’ old Nintendo 64 in my room.” he offers.

That seems to do the trick, as Mutta immediately lights up.

“Seriously? That’s awesome man!” he exclaims. “I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

He assures him it’s no trouble at all, determinedly avoids mentioning he’s going to have a lot of free time from now on. They talk about more, Mutta promising to kick his ass at Mario Kart, to which Isak replies he’s more than welcome to try, if he doesn’t mind leaving with his dignity.

Eventually deciding he should probably head back to the living room before Eskild launches a search party, he stands up, feeling his back crack a little. Mutta does the same, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks a lot, Isak. I’m really glad I talked to you.”

“Oh… Hum.”

At a loss for words, he just nods mutely, avoids Mutta’s earnest look.

“It’s nothing, really.”

The older man shakes his head.

“Nah, man, it means a lot. I’m gonna thank Even for setting up this party. It really helped.” he says with a final smile before exiting the room.

Isak frowns a little, but shakes his head.

  
  


He goes straight for the fridge, doesn’t pay attention to his friends and guests sprawled out on the couch and on the floor. There’s only a couple of beers left and he’s determined to enjoy a full one at last.

Leaning against one of the windows, he lets his eyes wander the darkened streets outside. A very light snow, barely more than a drizzle, is silently covering the pavement and buildings with a thin, almost intangible blanket of white slush. Far away down the street, a couple of indistinct shapes are slowly walking, so close together they eventually merge into one single entity.

Releasing a sigh, he lets his forehead touch the cool glass, hoping to find a way to sort out his own confusing thoughts.

He’s been feeling off almost all evening, for a reason he has yet to identify. It has nothing to do with his anxiety and the ever growing cold terror grasping his insides in a cold, dead grip. Its familiarity has made it almost bearable, as long as he doesn’t think too much about. And while it does keep him up at night, he’s mostly staved it off with mindless TV shows and science articles.

It resurfaces regularly, prompting his mind into an almost full blown panic, mentally rehearsing his mantra like broken record.

_What am I going to do?_

No, this thing, this feeling he’s been experiencing tonight is wholly different. It’s an unease, a sensation of imbalance, a song sang off key in the back ground of his thoughts, barely audible but present nonetheless. It’s something in the way people have been looking and talking to him. Something in their voices, in their words. He can’t put his finger on it, doesn’t know when it started exactly, but it’s driving him into insanity now, taking over his every thought, crawling just under his skin like a million ants of doubt.

Turning back and finding multiple pairs of eyes fixed on him before suddenly dropping to the ground feels like seeing a screaming neon sign he cannot read. The growing pressure behind his eyes is slowly but surely turning his skull into a concert hall for percussions, so setting his mostly untouched beer on the kitchen island he hurriedly lumbers to his bedroom.

He’s just about to open the door, his hand still on the handle when the door next to him opens and reveals three people coming out.

Maybe it’s the shocked expression on their faces, bordering on guilty, maybe it’s his brain finally catching up or perhaps just some odd intuition, but suddenly, he knows.

He stares at them, mouth parted in a silent cry of surprise or undeserved victory, and unspoken and very much unwanted eureka. As they stand there, unmoving, across each other, he realises how much sense it all makes. Mutta’s words, everybody’s looks, people constantly stealing his bear, trying to prevent him from drinking. The questions, thinly veiled hints of concern.

The woosh in his chest is almost painfully physical. It’s another hole opening, right there in the centre, sucking up the air, the light, the sounds, engulfing him in pitch black nothing else where only one thing remains.

Betrayal.

How could they do this? They know how much it destroyed him last time.

Eskild, Jonas and Even. They must pick up on his sudden epiphany, Even’s pale face and wide eyes a dead giveaway. He takes a step towards him just as Isak takes a step back.

“You lied,” he states flatly. “You knew about the party. You all set this up.”

“Isak...” tries Even, his tone begging.

The desperation in his voice makes him want to vomit. How could he have been so stupid. They must have taken him for a right idiot, must have enjoyed a good pitying laugh at his expense while planning this.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it? All along?” he asks, turning to Eskild, who doesn’t look remotely guilty. The song in the back ground is turning into white noise, growing louder.

“So? Do you realise how worried we all are? You’ve been shutting us all out. You don’t answer our messages, you ignore all your friends, you barely sleep any more. What were we supposed to do? Nothing?” cries his former roommate.

“Yeah!” he snaps back viciously. “I was fine! I don’t need your fucking help! I don’t need you to fucking spy on me!”

“I wasn’t spying, Isak, I...” manages Even.

“Is, I swear, we just want to help.” tries Eskild, desperate now.

“I don’t want your fucking help Eskild. I don’t want anything from you, I don’t need you.” he snarls venomously.

In his blind rage, a part of him enjoys they way his words hit the man with an almost audible slap, making him recoil violently. Good, he thinks. Make him hurt as much as he hurt you.

“Man,” says Jonas, smooth voice placating, brows furrowed in worry, looking at him like one might look at a particularly enraged wild animal. “I know our method isn’t the best, but we just want to be here for you. We don’t know what else to do.”

Had the situation been any different, Isak might listen, let himself be convinced, give them a few minutes to explain. At least he’d be willing to hear Even out, because even doesn’t know, probably just went along with Eskild and Jonas’ plan. It certainly would explain the nervousness and the tension. He might forgive him, he thinks.

But the other two. All he can hear are flimsy excuses paired with pitying looks. And all he knows is that they lied. Went behind his back, talked about whatever they think is going on with him and planned a fucking intervention with a bunch of people he barely knows and some he wishes he didn’t.

Which means everyone knows. They can now talk among themselves about how much of a fuck up he is.

Isak with the insomnia, the chronic anxiety, abandonment issues and all the rest.

If they only knew.

The white noise is overwhelming now, threatening to take over completely. He needs to get out, now.

A bitter laugh escapes him, comes up like a hiccup, or maybe a sob. Turning around harshly, he reaches the front door in couple of hasty strides before putting his trainers and jacket on. He fumbles with the handle when a hand grabs his wrists.

“Isak, bro...”

“Fuck off!” he almost shouts, violently shoving Jonas off him.

Feeling the shocked stares of everyone on him, he briefly lifts his eyes to scan the room.

“In fact, all of you can fuck off.”

Closing the door behind him in a thunderous crash, he practically runs down the stairs, feet drumming loudly on the ancient wood. With a shove of the shoulder, he opens the thick door, uncaring of the loud protesting sound it makes in the silence of the building, and disappears into the night.


	18. Chapter 18

In an ironic pause for dramatic effect, the music has stopped, leaving the apartment all but silent for a brief instant. All conversations have stopped and heads are turned to the three of them.

He stays rooted on the spot, unable to process what just happened, unable to just think.

It seems the others are in the same state, the whole room frozen, trapped inside a silent bubble, which he might have found funny in different circumstances.

Linn is the first to break out of their collective trance and goes to Eskild who sags in her embrace. He watches her hand draw slow, soothing circles on his back while muttering quiet words of comfort to his ear.

He wishes he shared the sentiment. Julie silently walks up to him and winds her arms tightly around him. She then grabs his hand, drags him toward the couch. He tries to smile at Vilde who makes room for them, but it comes out more like a grimace. Taking in her pale face and wide eyes, he notes critically that she is just as shell shocked as the others by her friend’s sudden violent outburst. She goes to Magnus who hugs her as well.

Even’s huge paw is still encased in Julie’s warm, small hands and he finds himself more grateful than ever before for her steady, solid presence by his side, her tenderness anchoring the jumble of emotions swirling around his brain. He’s ever more thankful for her silence, the lack of ‘I told you so’ another token of her thoughtfulness and understanding of him. She knows he needs her, just like this, holding his hand, her head resting on his shoulder.

At some point, someone puts music on again, and the party begins anew, although subdued, with uneasy conversations and forced laughter. He wonders if they’re all doing this for him, because it’s his birthday, but quickly dismisses the thought. It’s not about him, it’s about all of them. They need the distraction probably more than he does. So they soldier on, and keep ploughing through for a semblance of happiness. His own friends making a special effort to amuse the girls with their silly, albeit slightly affected, antics. They clap Jonas on the shoulder and get him involved in a conversation that turns into a slightly heated debate about some upcoming TV show he hasn’t heard of.

He tries to participate, to smile and joke but all he can see is his camera, lying abandoned on the table, reminding him of the elation he was feeling just a few minutes ago, how hopeful he was to finally move on from the dark cloud that’s been hovering over the apartment for weeks now.

Eventually, Magnus announces that he’s going to take Vilde home, and they all nod their heads in understanding. He hugs them both like old friends, profusely thanks them.

“Is Vilde going to be okay?” he asks Sana once they’ve left.

She nods hesitantly.

“She will be yeah. She doesn’t do well with shouting.”

“Yeah. And also, Isak’s always been a dick to her.”

Chris plops down next to them, munching on a cookie she got from… he has no idea where. She’s wearing a pink t-shirt with a bright, rainbow-coloured unicorn. It looks positively amazing.

Sana purses her lips disapprovingly, Eva joins them, leans against her. Chris isn’t deterred though.

“What? We all know it’s true. I know his face is God’s gift to us mere mortals and we have insane chemistry, but he’s still a prick. Always has been. Hot guys usually are, think it gives them a pass.”

She rolls her eyes.

“No offence.” she smiles at him.

He’s a little speechless at the ramble coming out of her mouth.

“And the bullying thing isn’t an excuse either...”

“Chris!” Sana interrupts her.

The girl looks like she wants to protest but stops herself when she catches her look to Even.

“Oh. Sorry.”

She doesn’t sound even remotely apologetic, which almost has him smile. He likes her, and he wishes they were discussing something other than his flatmate’s mysterious past and aggressive behaviour.

He tries to catch Eva’s eyes, but her stare is determinedly fixed on Sana and he’s pretty sure she’s avoiding looking at him altogether. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why, after her alcohol induced slip up from earlier, just before he’d caught Isak looking at them. He briefly wondered if the young man had an inkling of what his former best friend was inadvertently revealing. It might have fuelled his rage.

She’d caught herself before saying too much, but it was enough to feed into his curiosity about his flatmate.

And Chris’ words all but confirm it. Bullying. The ugly term and its connotations bounce around in the confines of his brain, swimming in an ocean of vague hints and guilty silences.

There’s no point in forcing the issue though. It’s easy to guess that contrary to Chris, she does feel bad about divulging parts of Isak’s past to him now that she’s sobered up. He’s reminded about Isak’s words on the state of their relationship from a few weeks ago and wonders, not for the first time, if the young man might not be blind to her efforts to mend their friendship.

The girls, minus Vilde and Linn, leave as a group and he’s once again engulfed in hugs, Chris being the most enthusiastic.

Before she follows them down the stairs, Sana turns to him one last time, face sombre.

“Be careful with him, Even.”

And with one last short embrace, she walks away to her friends.

The boys and Jonas leave next, with hugs and pats on the back. He and Isak’s best friend share a long meaningful glance, a nod, a sad smile. He still holds hope that his interactions with Jonas will at some point involve less distress.

Linn and Eskild insist on helping him and Julie tidy and wash up, and he only agrees because he knows how much they need the distraction. The four of them work in silence but he feels his throat close up when they embrace him at the top of the stairs.

Saying he feels awful for them sounds a very much inadequate description of the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him when he sees the pain clearly etched on their faces. The thought of how bad they’ve both been hurt by Isak’s words keep him awake for a long time that night, as he lays with Julie in his arms, together for the first time in his apartment.

Now that it’s just the two of them, his brain has finally settled down enough to start replaying the events of the evening on a loop. Although it had started out well, with everyone getting along and enjoying each other’s company, he’d noticed from the corner of his eye that Isak’s smile had grown more and more strained, his shoulder getting tenser throughout the evening.

Staring at the dark ceiling, Julie’s quiet breath tickling his neck the only audible sound in the room, he sees that same moment over and over again in his mind’s eye. Isak staring at him, Eskild and Jonas coming out of his room as realisation dawns on him. His jaw going slack, then tensing, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second, shock and hurt battling in them. Maybe they’d been too obvious, or maybe they’d just underestimated him, but they’d known, right then.

Then the shock had turned into anger. Into a rage that might have been designed at pushing them away, keeping them at bay, but really more akin to a fire simmering cold underneath the surface, finally let loose and set on turning everything into ash.

This is a part of Isak that scares him a little, the readiness to lash out at anyone who dares prod a little. Eskild’s crushed expression might not have exactly mirrored his own feelings, but he still found in it an echo his own hurt and guilt.

He knows they might have gone about it the wrong way and acted in a way he would usually abhors. There is something in Isak’s feeling of betrayal that reminds him of his own, whenever Sonja would go behind his back and talk to his parents, whenever she would push too hard, until he’d found himself pushing back past their breaking point.

That’s why he understands Isak’s anger and readily admits that he’s probably damaged his trust. But the rage and what it means for him, for them, terrifies him.

Forcing himself to breathe deeply, recalling his therapist’s teachings, he tries to focus on more positive thoughts. On how Isak’s belligerent words were mostly directed at Jonas and Eskild, on how he might still be able to repair their friendship and get him to understand that they’ve really just been trying to help.

He falls asleep holding on to that tenuous glimmer of hope, but not before Sana’s warning echoes distantly as his consciousness fades.

At some point during the night, somewhere between two dreams he won’t remember, he thinks he hears the sound of a door and quiet footfalls. He falls back asleep more peacefully after that, something indistinct loosening in his chest.

  
  


Consciousness returns gradually as Julie’s half-covered form stirs against him. In the darkness of his room, a faint beam of timid grey light lands a feathery kiss on her skin and awakens a sliver of desire that pools in his lower belly. He tightens his arms around her and presses a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Good morning.”

Her voice cracks alluringly with the last dregs of sleep. It’s not the first time they wake up in each other’s arms, but it’s their first morning together in his bed, and he can’t help but build it up as a special moment in his mind. He answers with a smile and a longer kiss that chases the last memories of dreams already fading back into emptiness.

The room is eerily silent and the sound of sheet rustling gently and every intake of breath reach him with sharp precision. Eventually remembering that he heard his flatmate come home the night before, he puts a fraction of distance between their lips, and lets his eyes express the want his body can’t. Julie giggles quietly and lets her head fall back on the pillow, her hands slowly travelling back up his body. He takes one in his own, enjoys how tiny it feels, loves the softness of the unblemished skin.

He watches her stretch languidly, his eyes following the curve of her breasts, the gentle shadows of her stomach. Not for the first time, he thinks he’ll never get tired of waking up by her side.

“I should go shower.” she murmurs, warm breath in the shell of his ear.

“I could come with.”

She snorts, a sound not altogether elegant that he enjoys so fondly.

“I don’t think your shower can fit both of us. Besides, we don’t want to scar your flatmate more than he is already.”

He groans, a little disappointed, a little dramatic, he knows. He really doesn’t want to discuss Isak when he has her right with him in his bed, waves of lust thrumming under his skin.

“Fine. I’ll make breakfast then,” he huffs. “Eggs okay?”

She nods and stands up, unashamed of her near nakedness.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

She dodges his grasp with that squeaky laugh of hers and flees to the bathroom before he can catch her. Falling back on the bed with a content sigh, he trains his ear to the distant sounds of her petering about and turning the water on.

He has half a mind to fall back asleep, let the weariness take over until she comes back. He knows himself well enough that he cuts this train of thought before it makes too much headway. Briefly checking his phone, he realises it’s much later than he thought and does drag himself out of bed with great effort.

Not bothering to get dressed, he pads around his room in his underwear, then trudges quietly to the kitchen.

There, he finds Isak, a smeared charcoal figure in the dim morning light barely filtering through the windows, hunched over a cup of tea, face partly concealed by the hair spilling out from under his hoodie, bare legs hanging off the stool.

He greets him with a quiet “hey” that goes unanswered.

From up close, the darkness of the rings beneath his eyes is more pronounced than usual, as are the greyness of his pallid face and the dullness of his dark eyes firmly set on the cup in his hands.

With a sigh, Even forces the growing concern away and focuses on the task before him. He knows better than push for a conversation in the morning, and he thinks neither him or his flatmate are ready for a serious talk anyway. He’s gotten used to Isak’s wall of silence coming up as one of his prime defence mechanism. It feels like a big step back after months of progress but he refuses to admit defeat.

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor and Isak’s bare feet softly treading away on the tile is not a great reassurance, but he’s not at all surprised by the younger man’s silent retreat.

He decides to put some music on, but Gabrielle’s upbeat song feels very much out of place, so he turns it off almost immediately.

The eggs are almost ready when Julie’s arms slip around his waist and he feels her tiptoe to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. The scent of her jasmine perfume envelops him in a pleasantly warm cocoon. He turns around and kisses her on the lips, whispering how much he loves her smell.

“And I love your smell of eggs and pancakes,” she giggles, a wide cheeky grin playing on her face.

They settle around the kitchen island, one of his feet tangled with hers, her damp hair curling around her face. Unlike Sonja, Julie very seldom wears make-up and he loves how confident she is, how she never takes bullshit from anyone, admires that she doesn’t care how people see her.

She looks beautiful no matter what, anyway. And he might be biased, but it almost looks like she’s glowing this morning, despite the unflattering smoky light.

“Was that Isak I just heard?” she asks, while sipping coffee.

He nods.

“Didn’t seem to want to talk,” he says, shrugging.

He keeps his voice level and neutral, determined not to let the situation with his flatmate ruin their breakfast together. Julie seems to hesitate a little, looks on the verge of saying something before thinking better of it.

“I know you guys will sort it out,” is what she settles on, eventually. “You just need time.”

He nods again, because he knows that she’s most likely right. In the short time they’ve been together, he’s come to understand, and accept, that she’s usually right about most things, but especially when it comes to dealing with people and emotions. It’s one of the things that make her exceptional at her job, one of the many qualities he admires about her.

“Are we still on for Thursday night?” she asks, switching the conversation to much lighter topics.

They spend the rest of breakfast planning their next dates – an exhibit at _Kunstverket Galleri_ on Thursday, a double date with her friend Ann at a new restaurant she’s been wanting to try for a few weeks on Saturday evening, and movie night at her place the following Tuesday.

There’s a risk they might end up having to cancel some of them, they’ve done it more often than not in the past. It’s one of the downside of dating someone with an extremely demanding job, planning things in advance only to end up postponing or just plain cancelling because something’s come up. It irks him a little, but he understand Julie’s need to have something to look forward to, a semblance of structure in her otherwise unpredictable daily life and he doesn’t resent her for it.

He’s accepting it as part of growing up and being a fully fledged adult. His younger self would probably laugh in his face, or run away terrified.

In the end, their breakfast turns into a brunch and she leaves a little before two, reminding him of her plans with her friend Becca.

“She works at the animal shelter, remember?” she says at his blank expression.

For some odd reason, the sudden memory of a bubbly, petite, redhead woman surrounded by tabby cats conjures up the image of Eskild making an offhand comment about Isak’s cat fur covered jacket the day before.

He reluctantly lets Julie go, not without trying to entice her to stay with a few more kisses. She pinches his arm with a playful smile and promises to call him tomorrow.

Although he’s not technically alone in the apartment, it suddenly feels like he really is.

It’s started raining outside, and the quiet spattering of droplets is the only audible sound in the room. Determined to pre-emptively stir his thoughts about the apartment’s other occupant, he takes out his books and decides to get a head start on his studies.

He’s surprisingly looking forward to being a student again, at least for a while. He’s enjoyed teaching for the past six weeks, probably even more than he thought he would, which only serves to confirm he’s happy with his career choice.

It’s helped alleviate his insecurity a little, but he also knows he’s not quite ready to face it all on his own, and he won’t mind a break from the responsibilities the job entails. He’ll be able to focus on more menial tasks such as essays, exams and readings. He’ll take a few shifts at _Kaffebre__n__ner__i__et_, go on dates with Julie, go out with the guys.

There are still days when he wonders if he’s doing the right thing though. Letting go of his dream to be a film director, at least in a professional capacity, had been hard, one of the hardest things he’d ever done. There were times, especially in the beginning, when the sense of loss was overwhelming. Then had come the anxiety and the self doubt. How could someone like him ever become a teacher? What would happen if he had an episode? His therapist and advisor helped quell his worries a little, and it’s become more latent than an outright fear over the years – though he still feels the crippling worry that he might not be suited for this job.

But more and more, he thinks he’s made a right choice. He’s falling a little more in love every day with his new career choice. He loves the interaction with the kids, the creativity and freedom he has and the sense of accomplishment it gives him.

Taking out his headphones, he puts on his studying playlists, mostly comprised of “hipster folk music” as Elias calls it”, before settling on the couch. He gets lost in his books until the words starts swimming before his eyes. The apartment’s grown darker and he has to turn on the light, golden glow spilling softly around him.

Closing his book, he turns on his back and stares at the ceiling, reaching blindly for his mobile phone digging into his thigh. Almost on automatic pilot, his fingers find his parents’ number and he presses the dial icon.

The swiftness with which his mother picks up has him almost laughing. He imagines her waiting with her phone in hand, debating whether to call him.

“I was actually going to call you,” is what she says. “Your father wants to hear all about that new camera of yours.”

He’s not surprised that Mikael actually conspired with his parents to get him his birthday present, it’s exactly the kind of thoughtfulness he’s come to expect from his best friend and it gives him hope that one day, their relationship will be back to what it once was.

So he obliges his father’s enthusiasm and lists off the features of his newly prized possession – he knows them by heart already, so much so that he could probably write a whole sale speech – and promises to send a few pictures so that his dad can appreciate the quality and the resolution of them. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his dad sounds almost jealous. And he probably is, a little.

At some point, his mother, probably tired of her husband’s rambling, snatches the phone back and asks about the previous evening. Her question gives him pause. He debates not telling her, embellishing the story, or simply keeping his answer vague enough that she won’t pry or suspect a thing. But of course she picks up on his hesitation almost immediately.

So he tells her everything, or at least, as much as he can without divulging too much of his flatmate’s private life, or what little he knows of it. He concludes by repeating Sana’s words to him. He’s both grateful and slightly off-put by her silence at the end of his retelling, and has no doubt that she and his dad are exchanging meaningful glances right now.

“I don’t know what to say, sweetheart. This is a terrible situation, for all of you.”

He knows her hesitation is a prelude for more serious words. His mother always knows what to say, or, at the very least, always has an opinion. She’s just not sure she should be voicing it. In the end, her concern for him wins over.

“I think… Maybe Sana has a point. I mean, Isak is a sweet boy, and you’re right, he probably does need help. But, as your mother, my first priority is your well-being, sweetheart. And I don’t want this to be eating at you.”

He nods mutely, despite knowing she can’t see him, throat too tight to form words.

“I...”

He coughs a little.

“I was thinking I might give doctor Lund a call,” he finally says, voice a little wobbly.

“I think that’s a great idea, honey.”

There’s no mistaking the relief in her voice.

“I know you want to help your friend, but you come first, remember? Your health is more important than any other issue. And in any case, I agree that Isak probably just needs time and will come to you when the moment is right.”

He smiles, appreciating the warmth and comfort his mother’s voice brings him. As cliché as it sounds, his parents have always been his rock no matter what, and he loves that he can still turn to them and not feel like a helpless child. They’re here regardless of how old he is, and they still do their utmost to help him, without intruding in his business. It’s a fine balance that has taken them a long time to find, and he wouldn’t trade that relationship for anything.

Their conversation move to the topic of uni and his internship, talking about inviting Julie over for dinner in the coming weeks. It’s odd to think that they haven’t met her yet, and he makes a mental note to fix that mistake soon.

He hangs up with the promise to call Dr. Lund and visit them next weekend – on the condition that he brings his camera with him.

His good mood is short lived though as he opens the fridge and takes out a small portion to reheat from the huge amount of leftovers. Knocking quietly on Isak’s door brings no answer and no hope of company for the evening. So he settles on the couch, puts on a movie, and mournfully munches on the admittedly delicious food. There’s a good chance that Isak won’t even bother to touch it, so he might as well try and enjoy it.

Two hours later, he’s dozing off as the credits of _Away We Go_ roll down. He’s done the dishes, brushed his teeth and changed for the night when an idea strikes him. He takes out some paper, a pencil, and sits at his desk.

It’s a long shot at best, but he has very little to lose, he reasons. It’s kind of a last ditch effort, so he applies himself, takes a bit more care than usual, puts more thought into the words he adds. It doesn’t take him long in the end, barely half an hour, yet he’s pleased with the results.

Words have failed the both of them, he’s used his too early, a little gauchely, probably, and Isak doesn’t trust them to begin with. This way of communicating has worked for them in the past, so he hopes it will work again, if only just this once. He sticks the drawing on the fridge, just under the old cleaning schedule Isak put up when they’d first moved in. The memory makes him smile a little. He presses his hand on it, willing the tiny flicker of hope to cling to life a little longer.

  
  


He gets out of bed early in the morning with an odd feeling of renewed energy pumping in his veins. He saunters in the shower humming to himself, wolfs down his cereal, pancake and coffee and feels almost too full as he practically jumps down the stairs on his way to the bus station.

Ignoring the tiny, but definitely present tug at his flatmate’s conspicuous absence, he sends Julie a quick good morning text and a couple of laughing emojis to Mikael who wastes no time replying in kind.

He finds focusing on the first few classes slightly harder than usual and has to copy notes from his neighbour – who definitely sends a judging look his way – before eventually finding his footing again at some point in the afternoon.

He calls Julie as soon as he gets home and gives her a play by play of his first day back. In return, she gives him updates on a case she’s currently working on. She sounds worried and tired, and it’s clear she didn’t get a lot of sleep the previous night. He hangs up after telling her to go to sleep and promising to call again the following day.

From the corner of his eye, he spots his drawing on the fridge, untouched. He convinces himself that it’s nothing, it doesn’t mean anything.

It reminds him of the promise he made his parents on the phone, so he wastes no time in making an appointment with Dr. Lund. Dali, her secretary, asks him a couple of routine questions – just to make sure, she says – before writing penning down an appointment on Tuesday next.

The relief he feels once he’s hung up is not altogether surprising. It’s a safety net he sometimes forgets he needs when things get too hard, when the pressure grows too heavy to handle, and Even doesn’t deal with conflict well. Or, as one of his first therapists said, he hates the idea of people not liking him.

Not too long ago, he would have balked at the idea of having to fall back to therapy so easily, but he grown to accept that it does help to sort out his feelings and emotions, forces him to take a step back and get some much needed clarity.

Still, Isak doesn’t appear that evening, or the next morning. Even eats alone – he’s barely halfway through the leftovers – watches movies and gets some studying done. It’s hard to think that they went from watching movies together, his flatmate almost drooling on his shoulder, to this. The apartment is too quiet and he absolutely hates it, but he pushes on.

The next days go pretty much in the same fashion, and he feels more and more apprehensive at the idea of going home to an empty and silent place. He texts the guys more often, and calls Julie every evening, tries to keep his brain as distracted as possible. He wants to call Eskild too, but isn’t exactly sure what to say.

He does run into Jonas on Wednesday. They both stop, almost shocked at each other’s sudden irruption into their lives. They don’t even speak, not really. Just a quick, muttered “hei” before they go their respective ways. The sting of Isak’s words to him has created a weird chasm between the two of them it seems.

He’s just getting out of his last class on Thursday afternoon when Julie calls him.

He has an inkling of what she’s going to say before even picking up. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s felt the dark cloud growing above his head or if it’s simply because it’s the only logical explanation, but the tone of her voice only confirms his worst expectations. She’s cancelling their date at the gallery. Actually, she’s cancelling all their plans for the rest of the week.

He wants to resent her, he really does. Find a way to vent his anger and dejection, but he can’t. She sounds just as disappointed as he feels but they both know there’s very little either of them can do. She’s been working on this abuse case for months and it’s all coming to a head a week earlier than everyone at her office expected. So he just nods dumbly, offers meaningless words of comfort, and wishes her, not luck exactly, but something along those lines.

The last thing he wants now is to go home.

So he takes out his phone and sends a message to the guys. Or at least, that’s what he pictures himself doing. What he actually does, is stare at the screen, wondering why he can’t try to enjoy an evening on his own. He should be stronger, better, not about to fall apart at the slightest change of plans. He doesn’t want to have to explain to his friends how despondent and lonely he’s been feeling lately, hates how weak it makes him feel.

So he pockets his phone, ignores the tiny, persistent voice in his head whispering that he’s making a mistake.

It’s started raining again, and by the time he opens the door of his apartment, he realises he should have listened to that voice.

Isak is there, right in the middle of their living room, eyes wide, hair a mess, looking very much like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. They face each other, unmoving, an awkward Norwegian version of a cowboy stand-off.

Isak is the first one to break, moving away to escape to his room. Of course he does.

The snort that escapes him, is loud enough to stop his flatmate. The younger man turns around to face him once again, eyes narrowed, lips pulled in a thin line.

“What?”

He looks tense, his body taut with fatigue and nerves, ready to snap. And Even feels the anger and resentment building, and he knows he shouldn’t. He knows it. That doesn’t stop him from rolling his eyes and dismissing his flatmate with a “nothing”, not quite hiding the disdain in his voice.

It’s the wrong thing to say apparently, or maybe the right one, the difference between the two more muddled than ever when it comes to them.

Isak takes a step toward him. Looking more closely, Even sees how hard he seems to be struggling to keep his face as neutral as possible, not entirely concealing the clear hostility emanating from his stance.It’s all weary lines and sharp angles, making it look even more gaunt than usual. His eyes, dark, sunken, hold the promise of a fight Even is not sure he can avoid any more.

“If you have something to say, say it, Even.”

There is no way either of them is getting out of it unscathed now, and he’s aware Isak is too proud and stubborn to back down from a confrontation. So it’s up to him to diffuse the situation. He searches for the right words to say, but comes up blank. Perhaps he doesn’t want to. He thinks it might be the stress, the disappointment from being let down once again, or maybe his own resentment towards Isak. But as he hears himself say those words, he knows a confrontation is inevitable.

“Nah, just go hide. You’re good at that.”

The silence that stretches between them after the words leave his mouth is a testimony of the shock they both experience at him finally fighting back. He watches, almost fascinated, as Isak’s jaw clenches and unclenches a couple of times. The young man opens his mouth, but stops himself.

“Excuse me if I haven’t exactly been looking forward to see your face again after what you did,” is what he finally grounds out.

“Oh, grow up, Isak,” he exclaims with a bitter laugh. “This isn’t fucking high school, we were trying to help you. Obviously, you’re too blind or stupid to see that.”

“I don’t want your fucking help!” counters Isak, almost shouting. “I don’t need it. I don’t need you, or anyone.”

The words, though not unexpected, hit harder than he would have imagined. Maybe that doctor was right, he thinks with a self deprecating laugh, maybe he can’t stand the idea of someone not liking him.

“Trust me, after seeing how you treat your friends, I’m glad I’m not one of them,” he bites back.

Almost perversely, he sees and enjoys the effects of his words on Isak. Notices the infinitesimal widening of his eyes and slackening of his jaw. It’s gone in a flash, immediately replaced by the cold rage he’s come to expect. That all consuming fire that Isak lets take over, ready to lay waste to everything, and everyone.

His tone is almost controlled, voice low and steady as he sneers at him.

“You think I’d want someone like you, eh? I’ve got enough crazy people in my life. I don’t need one more fuck up.”

The blow is physical. It has to be. How to explain that he cannot breathe, otherwise? It’s almost ridiculous to think that no one has ever said something close to that to his face, ever. In a brief moment of clarity, Sana’s words echo in his mind, and how he wishes he’d listened. How stupid, how wrong he’s been.

It finally comes up to the surface. The anger, the bitterness, the hurt, fuelled by Isak’s cruel words and nasty grin. He feels the venom of hatred poisoning his thoughts, clouding his mind. And maybe later, he’ll regret his words. But in this very instant, he only wants one thing.

To hurt Isak as bad as he’s just hurt him.

“You don’t have friends, Isak. Wake the fuck up. No one wants to be around you now. You don’t have anyone any more. You’re alone, you’ll always be alone.”

He doesn’t stay to enjoy the effect of his own bile on his flatmate. He feels him recoil in shock, more than he sees him, as if tangibly struck. He pushes past him, harshly shoving him out of his way to his bedroom.

He locks the door behind him with trembling fingers. Unable to fight off the immediate wave of shame and regret, he slumps down on the floor and put his head in his hand.

As if in a distant dream, he hears the front door open and close with a quiet and final click. He wants to laugh at the absurd idea of Isak leaving – again – but it comes out more like a sob.

He’s been so, so wrong. Everyone else had been right. He’s not ready to live on his own, it was all a big, foolish mistake. Or maybe his mistake had been to care. Isak’s right after all. They’re not friends, they never have been. It takes more than four walls in common to turn people into friends, and he’s been an idiot to think otherwise.

His eyes catch the mostly unused camera, lying on his desk. It contains the couple of pictures he took before the battery died on his birthday. He hasn’t had time to look at them yet, but he knows what he’ll find. Faces of people he loves, people he cares about and who care about him.

Isak is not one of them, he’s not the sweet, shy guy Even though he was when he first sat across him at that café all those months ago, and when he comes back, things will have to change. Maybe it’s time they stop pretending that they can still live together. Maybe it’s time to admit they were wrong, and move on.

That night, Isak doesn’t come back.

  
  


  
  



	19. Chapter 19

His head is full of white noise, so loud that he thinks his skull might explode. It’s not a conscious thought, just a fleeting notion, an almost automated reflex. He can’t think, hear or feel anything. All his senses and primary functions seem to have been obliterated in the explosion. He’s floating in a world of blinding white nothingness, without ground or sky. No up and down, or left and right.

It comes back to him, abruptly. Reality. A version of it at least. It pulls him back with a violent shiver, a deep, fast beat swallowing the white noise. The weight of his limbs, almost unbearable, comes back next. His arms and legs, unmovable, filled with lead. And finally, consciousness returns, but no thought. He can’t make himself think. He’s trying to, almost, desperately, but his mind has been wiped. Memories and thought escape him, almost within his grasp, yet laughably far away.

He’s watching himself. A sad sack of bones, moving jerkily like a puppet without strings. The vaguely human shaped creature is putting on a jacket and shoes. It leaves, walks down the stairs in stilted steps, pure luck only stopping it from stumbling down and breaking its neck.

The cold air hits him with such force it pulls him back into his body completely, leaves him gasping for air. He almost falls then, catches himself at the very last second, leaning against the door.

It takes a couple of minutes for his breath to come out normally again, and even longer for his hands to stop shaking too hard. The deep pulse still beats, a low, thundering rhythm against his eardrums.

Isak blinks, slowly, takes in his surroundings. He’s just in front of his apartment building, panting a little, upper body still braced against the cold, solid wood. From the corner of his eye, he sees a middle-aged woman watching him warily. He must be quite a sight, a trembling, sickly looking string bean holding on for dear life. The beat eventually starts slowing down, albeit only marginally, and he almost throws up when he realises that’s his heartbeat, drumming a panicked thump.

He’s not quite sure whether he says the words out loud or if they echo in his mind, but they voice the first embryo of thought that forms as he stands there unsteadily, slightly panting. They tell him he needs to get away from this place.

So he does, not yet in full control of his legs and feet, lets them guide him as far as possible from the apartment, not quite running, but not walking either. He moves at a brisk, unsteady pace, and as the sun sets slowly, shadows stretching around him, his brain starts clearing a little.

Clouds of confusion part and reveal Even’s face. Pale, hair in disarray, parted mouth and those wide, deeply hurt, blue eyes. And then the words, one after the other, like gun shots, or stab wounds perhaps, twisting cruelly in his entrails.

He almost vomits for good this time, and it might be the lack of actual food that prevents him for doing just that. His strength fails him at once and he falls to his knees on the wet, glacial pavement. He retches loudly a couple of time, realising once it passes how lucky he is to be in a deserted street.

He castigates himself for such a display of weakness, and is only grateful no one is around to witness it. Pushing himself back up again, he quietly curses at the renewed trembling of his hands.

It’s nothing.

It’s nothing.

It’s nothing.

He takes a few deeps breaths, forces his whole body to calm down, wills his limbs to stop shaking. It doesn’t fully work, but it’s a slight improvement.

He’s fine.

It’s nothing.

Desperately clinging to his mantra, he starts walking again, tries to ignore how the wet pavement is gradually soaking his socks through the holes in his trainers, turning his feet into painful blocks of ice. He’s distantly aware of the cold progressively numbing his extremities.

He almost snorts at the irony of himself becoming as numb on the outside as he feels inside.

At least, his brain seems to finally have regained its cognitive functions and he’s able to take stock and analyse his situation with clear, detached eyes.

The first conclusion he reaches is of great comfort, for it matches his mantra: it’s nothing, he’s fine. It’s nothing he hasn’t been expecting, in any case. Looking back at the last few months, it’s clear to see that he was always headed this way.

From an outsider’s perspective, it might seem like his fight with Even is actually more dire than it is. But it’s really not. It’s nothing more than them laying down cold, hard truths. Well, half-truths, on Isak’s side. But while he regrets using Even’s insecurity about his mental health against him, he’s convinced it’s for the best in the long run, and he knows Even will realise that, eventually. Isak doesn’t need anyone, never has and never will, and it’s time for his flatmate to accept that and put some distance between them.

It looks like he might finally be doing just that anyway, if his last words to him are anything to go by. Isak has known those words to be true for a while now. He’ll always be alone. And although it might seem like he’s not, he’s actually fine with that. He’s had practice. First his dad, then Lea, and, in a way, his mother, who didn’t have any qualms about fucking right off out of his life. He has had no choice but to become self-reliant from a young age, and that’s fine.

He’s had Jonas, and Eskild and Linn, and the others, sure. But those relationships have always been one-sided. He’s never let them in, not really. Because he’s always known, deep down, that they aren’t for him to have. No one is. They’re all temporary.

If these past few months have taught him anything, it’s that his life is at a turning point. The last few weeks a transition from the old to the new. It would scare anyone, and he guesses it’s why he’s been feeling off for such a long time. Now he sees clearly though, that this is a good thing.

Losing the internship, losing his job, ending his friendship with the others. He can build from it, can make a new life for himself. A different one.

He’ll quit uni and get a job. Not a fancy one, just something to make money, put food on the table and pay rent. Something that won’t cause him to be so nauseous with anxiety, ideally. He’ll move out and get a place of his own. A small studio where he can finally just be. Without anyone expecting anything from him, judging him or pitying him. A place where he can just exist on his own. He doesn’t need anyone.

Or he might even make new friends, better ones, real ones. No best friends who pretend they still stand the sight of you, pretend they don’t mind having you around even though you don’t want to go out, smoke weed, or do cool things. Jonas never got over his betrayal in high school anyway, so going behind his back now is fair payback, he supposes. And he’s never met Eskild’s impossibly high standard. For all he claims to treat him like a brother, Isak knows he’s always really seen him as a burden more than anything else. The drunken kid who needed saving from handsy strangers in a gay bar, the fuck up who kept spouting offensive things while trying to figure out his sexuality, the idiot who couldn’t cope with a mentally ill mother.

As for Linn, she deserves better anyway.

The others at least didn’t try much to pretend they actually liked him. He’s never been nothing more than a fantasy for Chris and an endless source of gossip and curiosity for Vilde. Sweet, gentle Vilde who’d mirrored the misplaced shame he had felt right when she had slapped him in front of everyone.

His stomach starts grumbling loudly when he passes the illuminated front of a corner shop. He resolutely does not acknowledge the look the cashier behind the counter throws him as he hands him the coins to pay for his meagre packet of crisps. He doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal, probably not since Even’s birthday, and he doesn’t think he can stomach much more than that anyway. It’s not like he took time to grab what little money he’s got left to his name. He feels the guy’s small beady eyes taking in his soaked and probably more than a little shabby clothes. He leaves without a word.

Noora might have liked him at first, despite being friends with Eva, enough to pity him and offer him her room at Kollektivet. But he saw her growing less indulgent with his antics, his childish grumpiness and arguably problematic drinking as time went, often rolling her eyes at him, looking down on him like one would a child. It hadn’t taken long before those looks turned into pure contempt when she sided with the girls, with everyone, against him in third year. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Isak.” she’d said then. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget those words, nor the hatred in her eyes. He hadn’t said anything, just hung out his head, cheeks burning. He’d felt shame indeed, though probably not for the reasons she thought at the time.

She’d apologized, later on, as had most of the others. He’d brushed it off with a smile. And now she calls him almost every other night, confiding in him, asking for advice, as if they’d ever been close.

Eva had apologised too, but he knew at the time, and still does, that she hadn’t meant it. She’s never forgiven him for manipulating her and Jonas into breaking up. His original sin. Despite her assurance that she had, she’d been the first one to shun him. She’d thought it logical, inevitable even, that he would do something like that in the end. Because he was selfish, petty and cruel. She’d told them that he’d done this kind of thing before, so it wasn’t that surprising. After all, that was what he was. The villain of their story.

Every story needs a bad guy, the main antagonist. That had been him.

The crisps are gone in seconds, barely tasting like anything more than carton. They satiate the physical hunger at least, and that’s more than he can ask for. Throwing the empty packet in a bin, he realises he has no idea where he is now, doesn’t recognize the dark, modern building around him. He has no idea what the time is either and briefly wonders if he should try to find a spot to settle for the night. The lack of regular meals have made his body weaker than before and there’s no way his legs are going to carry him throughout the night.

That’s how Sana’s always seen him. Weak. She’d hated him as soon as she’d befriended Eva, for good reason, and even more so when she’d found the admittedly poorly hidden weed at he new friend’s house, months later. She’d tolerated him, in the end, out of some sense of obligation imposed by the unspoken rule of being study partners. They’d found common ground in their love of science, even though she was always better than him and never lost an occasion to remind him of that fact.

She’d shown her true colours in third year and he hadn’t even been all that surprised when he’d realised she’d used him to get back at Sara. He’d almost been pleased, really, to see the almighty Sana, constantly wearing her righteous moral and intellectual superiority like a second skin, stoop down to his level. In a twisted way, he had enjoyed how she’d cowardly waited almost a week to come clean. Or, he would have enjoyed it if she hadn’t pretty much destroyed his life at the time.

He thinks back with almost vicious contentment to how she’d pretty much broken down in front of him, apologising, voice full of tears. He’d accepted it, because what else were you supposed to do when Sana the Great apologised to you? They’d become friends, out of guilt on her part, but it hadn’t taken long before she’d reverted back to the way she’d treated him before, with barely veiled disdain. She’s still better than him, and there’s no way she’s ever letting him forget that.

How he hates her in that moment. For making his life hell, and for giving his number to Even last year.

Fucking Even Bech Naesheim. The mere thought of him has his blood boiling.

The nerve of his guy, going around in self righteous anger, giving him lessons in morality when he barely knows him, pretending to try and be his friend just to go behind his back and plot with the others. He’s always had an inkling as to how Even sees him, he’s not that hard to figure out. But to have the person he lives with, a perfect stranger he’s allowed into his life judge and insult him makes the sting of betrayal all the more painful.

This is why he can’t let anyone into his life. People disappoint him at first, and betray him at worst. He should know, he’s been doing both all his life.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, he has to take a couple of calming breaths to try and rein his rage in. He really needs to stop thinking about Even and the others and start coming up with a plan for tonight.

The rain hasn’t let up, and he’s stopped shaking from the cold, which he knows is not a good sign. His body has stopped trying to keep itself warm so he needs to get some heat sooner than later if he doesn’t want hypothermia to settle in. Walking at an increasing rapid pace, he does end up finding an open fast-food in the corner of an empty street, red and yellow sign brightly glinting from a distance.

He has just enough money to get himself the smallest coffee known to mankind, which comes in a cup barely larger than a thimble. The irony is, he’s never really liked the taste of coffee, only drinking it to keep himself awake, but he sips it anyway, as slowly as possible, to make it last, and it warms him up somewhat. He stays there, playing on his phone and sipping that disgusting thing, and then pretending to when his battery dies and the cup is empty, until closing time, which comes at four. By that time, he thinks he’s taken ignoring the side glances from the bored employees to an art form.

It’s a shame he has to go outside again, seeing as he’s almost warm now. Sitting close to the heater brought him more comfort than he ever thought possible, and feeling dry again did a great job of appeasing his anger.

He’s calmer, and a little more hopeful when he finally walks back out into the cold and dreary, dark streets of the city. The rain whips at his face and he wishes he’d have a thicker jacket or something to cover his head and hands. On the plus side, he knows where he is now and is almost impressed at how much he walked, and how far from the apartment he’s managed to get.

It should be daytime by the time he gets back there, and Even should be in class. He remembers him mentioning going to uni on Friday mornings this semester, and picking shifts in the afternoon at Kafferbrenneriet. That should give him ample time to do what he needs to do.

  
  


  
  


His feet hurt something fierce, and he has to stop a couple of times on the way, but he manages to make it back to the apartment, soaking wet once again, and more tired than he’s ever felt. The place is thankfully empty and silent, bathing in a dull, woolly grey light.

He indulges in a long, hot shower, slumps against the tile, letting his skin turn rosy from the heat. For a few minutes, he lets the hot water cascade on his shaking body and has to fight off the sudden want to give up and crumble. He wishes he could stay longer, enjoy the safety and warmth, forget everything. Curl up under the covers of his bed and hide in there forever. But he knows in his heart of hearts that he can’t.

Allowing himself another reprieve, he goes to the kitchen to try and find some food but find his shelves desperately empty. Everything on Even’s side is fully stocked and he’s briefly taken back to that day when he’d bought groceries for him. Things had looked so bright and promising back then, he had felt so happy to be doing this for his new flatmate, hopeful that they would eventually become friends.

What a fool he’d been to think that this was his to have.

He swallows the bitterness and disappointment and closes the fridge carefully, not disturbing any of Even’s food. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he puts his hand on the drawing that’s still there on the door.

He’d immediately seen it on Tuesday morning, when he’d come out of his room, long after Even had left for class. The hope and tenderness it had briefly alighted in him had almost been enough then. He remembers wanting to call him, lay out everything. Beg for help.

It hadn’t lasted long, this light, this flicker, soon smothered by the crushing weight of his arrogance and insecurity. He’d already done a lot of begging, and look where it had gotten him. So no, Isak Valtersen did not beg, not ever again.

The anger at his flatmate has gone completely, and it’s left him with his only two faithful companions: shame and regret. How could he ever hate Even? He wishes he could take his words back, apologise for the pain he’s caused him, but he knows it’s for the best in the end. Even has been so good, so patient with him. He’s been the best flatmate anyone could wish for. He’s been a good friend. With his stupid movies and TV shows, his ridiculous hair and his kind eyes and crinkly smile. His off-key singing and childish enthusiasm.

Isak has all but thrown that to his face, stomping on their blossoming friendship with a rage that’s burned him to the core, leaving nothing but a dark pit filled with the ashes of everything that could have been.

He catches the tear before it rolls down his cheek and turn away from the last drawing Even will have done for him.

It’s for the best, he tells himself again.

His room has never been his. He’s never bothered to decorate it, the Periodic Table of Elements one of the only two exceptions. He takes it off anyway. And his wall of Even’s drawings. But those belong to Even, so he’ll leave them there for him to take back or throw away, because he can’t bring himself to do it.

Maybe he’s always known, deep down, that he had been living there on borrowed time. Giving in to a short bout of self-indulgence, he’d let himself want. Want something more out of life than the bleak prospect of never ending failure and disappointment.

It doesn’t take long to pack everything: he doesn’t have much. He crumples the small paper that’d been lying forgotten on his desk for almost a week now. That birthday gift was the stupidest he’s ever had in the first place. Emptying the rest of the desk and cupboards to put their contents in his old raggedy suitcase is a quick affair. He shoves a few clothes in a small backpack he can carry with him and stashes the suitcase in a corner of the room. He’ll come back for it, eventually.

With an unsteady grip, he takes his blue pillow, holds it to his nose, inhales the faint smell of the softener Even insists on getting for them. He has half a mind to leave it behind, be done with everything once and for all, but he can’t quite bring himself to. This pillow holds too many memories to be ditched and left behind. Clutching it against his chest, he wonders.

What if he apologised? Maybe he could try again, try harder, be better. Maybe Even could forgive him, and maybe Eskild, and Jonas and the others. Maybe they could give him another chance.

He could offer to cover part of Even’s rent, once he quits uni and gets a full time job, or do his chores, his groceries. He knows he can be better, if they let him be.

There’s a version of him, somewhere in all the possible universes, that is the best of all Isaks. Kind and thoughtful, ready to help, ready to smile. Smarter, possibly, and not as damaged as him.

Once, not too long ago, he tried to picture a kind of ranking for all the possible Isaks. Sadly, after much thinking and introspection, he’d come to realise he was probably somewhere near the bottom of this ranking. Maybe not the worst, because there are so many ways he could be even worse than what he is right now – as improbable as that seems – but certainly far from the best.

Then he spots the gloves, thrown haphazardly on his neatly made bed. A tenuous sliver of hope.

He has to try. Make him understand. If nothing else, to tell him how important Even is.

Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, he sits down at his desk once more, and tries to come up with words. He’s never been good with them, he thinks, but he reckons he has little to lose at this stage.

The pen trembles slightly between his unsure fingers.

He tries to conjure up every poem, every novel his mother has read to him, hoping to impart her son with some of her artistic fibre, every song he’s ever heard, jealously wishing he could express himself with the ease and confidence that have always felt alien.

_Kjaere Even. Na sitter…_

He stops himself. The words won’t come. The ones he has in mind won’t make it to the paper, his hand refusing to move. What could he say, when the blurry shapes of his thoughts escape him like timid ghosts in a rumbling storm. He strikes the words out.

Applying himself more than he ever has to anything before, he slowly traces a somewhat familiar figure. Then another. It takes him a lot longer than probably necessary, biting his lips in focus, his body almost completely hunched over the desk.

When it’s done, he looks at it carefully. Wondering what Even will see, what his first thoughts will be. Will he laugh and throw it away, dismiss him one, final time? Or will he realise how much Isak wants him to… To what, exactly?

That’s when it happens. There’s a brutal tug, deep within his body, almost a snap. Maybe that’s what an epiphany sounds like. A tremor coursing through his very being.

Feeling his throat close up, it dawns upon him that he’s wrong, that there’s no use. He’s too late. Asking for help after everything he’s done and said, hoping to stay here and pretend that the past few weeks didn’t happen is absurd at best, and just plain cruel at worst.

“You’re cruel, Isak.” Eva had once said, with tears in her eyes, when she’d seen extent of the hurt he had caused.

The trembling comes back and he has to fight with every ounce of energy he has left not to break down completely. He lets tears roll down his cheeks silently instead, crumples the paper and throws it carelessly in the bin, not bothered when he misses spectacularly.

His body stays there, slumped over the desk, shivering pathetically for a while and he stares on, lets himself have this, this one brief moment of complete and utter despair. Then he stops, puts himself back together, pieces not quite fitting now, his whole being a patchwork of disjointed elements.

With jerky movements, he grabs his backpack, a second sweater and his coat. He’s put more tape on his trainers, and there might be more of it than fabric at this point, but he doesn’t care. He has to go. Coming back was a mistake, the mere idea of a second chance an underserved utopia.

Walking down the stairs in rigid, robotic steps, he almost trips and falls, vision blurred by tears that don’t seem to end. At least, no one sees the difference with the downpour. He can be one of those faceless strangers, half hidden by a curtain of rainfall.

Berating himself once for the uncontrolled surge of emotion, he forces a couple of breaths out, and pushes everything back, swallows the bile. He can get through this, he can get through anything.

Although going back to the apartment was a terrible idea, he can still get out of this, if not intact, then at least with some of the important parts.

As a scientist, he knows it’s all down to the chemistry in his brain, interacting and reacting. All he needs is to think calmly, detach himself and analyse. Stick to the plan.

  
  


  
  


He spends the rest of the day erring the streets, trying his hardest to look busy, walking purposefully, until the ache and fatigue in his legs and body won’t be ignored any more, at which point he gives up and settles in a half-hidden corner of a small café tucked away in one of the less busy streets, feeble golden light vainly fighting the dreary night for dominance. It’s mostly empty, shrouded in semi-darkness, and just perfect for him to disappear in and dry up for a few hours.

But as the mental and physical exhaustion threaten to take their toll, he struggles more and more to keep his brain in check, keep it from surrendering to the waves of hopelessness and depression that lap at his consciousness and erode his resolve tirelessly.

He almost breaks when a bored looking, middle-aged woman brings him a lukewarm tea, taste much too bland compared to the one he used to drink, but still brings him back to the day Sana gave him the recipe.

He had invited her over a couple of days after his eighteenth birthday, and she’d frowned – not for the first time – at his appalling tea-making skills. She hadn’t said anything, too aware of the previous occasion when she’d snapped at him for not being a proper host whilst discreetly taking screenshots on his laptop.

Instead, she’d just let out that long suffering sigh of hers and had claimed she couldn’t take it any longer and would dispense some of her infinite wisdom and teach him the ways of Moroccan tea making. It had turned out to be more of a calming drought, although she had been careful not to mention that, purposefully not acknowledging how badly he needed it and why.

She’d been so patient and kind that day, smiling with clear fondness as he’d dutifully taken notes and practised until she’d deemed his tea “acceptable”. She had unwittingly offered him a glimpse of the girl concealed under the hardened exterior she showed to the world. In that instant, it felt like they were true friends.

He wipes hastily at his damp eyes and buries the memory. Tells himself there’s no use in remembering what he’s lost. This is about moving on.

He’d been struck as a child, by the image of the Nautilus trapped under the ice, had felt keenly the claustrophobia and distress Nemo and his crew must surely have experienced, with no possibility of turning back. They’d clung blindly to the tiniest of hopes, and followed their only option: sometimes, the only way, is the way forward. He’s pretty sure this is one of these times.

The tea does very little to warm him up and indeed doesn’t sate him at all when he realises he still hasn’t eaten anything since that packet of crisps last night. The lack of food is starting to become an issue, he thinks, as he feels his stomach tying itself into painful knots.

He has more pressing matters at hand though, as the café closes up and he finds himself once more under a blanket of cold, February rain. Sooner or later, he’ll have to face the question about his immediate future head on, but for the next couple of hours, he just wants to find a somewhat dry place to rest.

It takes him a couple of hours before he ends up at a deserted bus stop, lost in a street where the vague lights of shop windows and street lamps don’t seem to reach, almost trying to hide from darkness itself. He lets himself fall heavily on what can almost pass up as a clean bench – if one ignores the weird looking stain on one end and the impressive collection of gums stuck on the underside of it.

Sleep doesn’t come to him. It never really does in his own bed, so he doesn’t expect it here either. He’s long ago stopped believing in miracles, not sure he’s ever believed in them in the first place. Especially here, with the sharp teeth of a cold breeze digging into his extremities, fingers coiling around his body in a vice grip.

But he does shut his eyes and fall into an almost slumber-like limbo that fills his mind with the disappointed faces of people he knows and the bleak prospects the future holds for him. Grasping his backpack tightly, he’s aware of every sound and every movement around him.

Every drop of water hitting the plastic roof of the bus station and the hard concrete, every hurried step, ever distant honk of cars. His body has stopped shivering again, and while he cannot see the colour of his skin in the gloomy darkness, he can easily picture the bluey tinge of his hands.

He wishes he’s kept Even’s gloves. He wishes he’d told him. _I don’t know if you know..._

Night is gradually making way for a blurry, cold grey morning as he leaves the refuge of the bus stop before passer bys can start noticing the dirty looking young man loitering around.

He goes from one dry place to the next, pretends to wait at different bus and train stations, tries to blend in overcrowded stores. He even hides away in a library for a couple of hours before it closes, hunches on himself, flees the suspicious stares and indistinct shapes of people. He’s lost track of time, has not idea what day it is, dancing around the fine line between complete numbness and feverish despair.

He spends a few more of his last kroner in a café, where a woman with a worried and kind expression approaches him and asks him if he needs help. She tells him he’s been crying for a few minutes, and sure enough, he can taste the salty tears as they reach past his lips. Blinking furiously and putting what is probably the worst smile in the history of smiles, he assures her he’s fine.

For the first time since he’s started using those words as an automatic response aimed at distracting others, he accepts that he doesn’t believe them. He knows he’s not fine, doesn’t think he’ll ever be fine again.

The woman doesn’t believe him either, but doesn’t say anything. For half a second there, he wants to tell her everything, wants to spill every single truth he’s tried to keep hidden, wants to ask for help. But the thoughts barely take form, so he smiles again, a little more convincingly, and pretends, one last time.

He spends another night on bench somewhere, in a park, he thinks. Or is it two nights? Reality is getting hard to tell from dream. The shivers come and go and he assumes he’s probably gotten sick by now.

In a different universe, there is a version of Isak who is much, much worse off than him, and as he finds himself staring at the murky, bluey-grey waters as he walks by the seaside, he wonders how it would feel like to let himself get taken away, be swallowed by the infinite depths, adrift and floating in the nothingness of the sea. His own scientific brain trying to decide whether the hypothermia or drowning would come first.

Not this Isak. The only things drowning him is a swirl of emotion that he’s finally given up on controlling. As he stares at the wave languidly lapping at the pier, the image he sees is that of him with his parents and sister. He’s five, he thinks and wearing is favourite bright green beanie, with matching green gloves. His parents are holding hands and talking quietly while Lea is huffing moodily besides him, because she hates the pier, hates the ocean, hates the wind messing her hair, hates that she couldn’t go to a friend Jessica’s house instead of being here.

Little Isak is staring at a huge ship on the horizon. It’s so big it looks like an island, he tells his parents. It could be an island that got torn off and is now being carried away by the ocean, and perhaps it will attach itself to a new land. _And what will happen to the people, mum? Do you think they’ll be happy to go on an adventure? _

He take out his phone with shaky fingers and tries to swipe at it. The rain is redoubling strength and his thumb slides uselessly against the damp screen. Of course it’s dead. He didn’t even remember to charge it again. It makes no difference. He knows, with a certainty carved deep into his brain, that no one cares anyway.

Nobody’s tried to reach out, nobody’s called him. He’s done it, finally. Complete and utter success. And yet it feels more like a loss than a victory. He’s pushed everyone away, one after the other until no one is left. There is no one left for him to go to.

It’s getting dark again, and he’s somewhere else.

Something cracks.

The rage and shame come back to the surface and he lets them consume him, his whole body trembling with the need to hurt something or someone.

He finds himself in a small, narrow alley and how he got there, he has no idea. All he knows is his head is about to burst.

He’s been on the streets for a few days, hasn’t had any contact with anyone, and it’s taken him all this time to come to the obvious conclusion. He has nowhere to go. He has no one.

His sister couldn’t wait to fuck off. His father not far behind, constant look of disappointment on his face, silently asking him why he just couldn’t try harder, couldn’t be better.

And his mother...

He hates them all so much. Hates himself even more. So he punches a wall. Once. And again. A wounded, almost inhumane cry is torn from him. There might be a bone breaking, somewhere in there, his detached brain supplies. He watches himself do it again, and again, and again, until the pain is so unbearable he feels on the verge of passing out.

Blinking stupidly, he observes, with distant, almost clinical fascination, blood dripping from his mangled hand. He stars walking again, cradling his throbbing limb, delirious with pain. And all he can think is how alone he is.

His legs finally give up. He lets himself sag on the wet pavement, near a couple of bins, right then and there in an empty street. Belatedly recognizing where his footsteps have taken him when a small, wet body rubs against him, he makes a half heated move to shoo the cat away but it comes out as a small whimper.

Even was right.

He should have known it would end like this. His family wouldn’t stick around for him, so why would anyone else?

He tries to hold back a hiccuping sob but his body betrays him at last.

It’s taken a long time, but here he is. In the end, this is where he breaks. He curls into himself, and cries, cries and cries. His last thought is that at least, no one is there to see it.

In this universe, Isak Valtersen is broken and alone.

  
  


  
  


  
  



	20. Chapter 20

Taking down the drawing on the fridge feels ambiguously like both driving a final nail into the virtual coffin of his relationship with Isak and taking the first step on the path to recovery, finally letting go of the anxiety and worry that have plagued him for weeks.

He tells himself it’s only natural to be feeling sad, waves of despondency a mere by-product of failing to recognize earlier the signs of the negative impact his flatmate has been having on his well-being. The disappointment at failing to connect with Isak on a deeper level than the unsteady pseudo-friendship they had will most likely fade away in a few weeks.

Despite his determination to move on, he knows he needs a break. So he calls Julie and tells her he can’t make it to their date tomorrow. He tries not to dwell too long on the fact that she doesn’t seem overly disappointed – knows how exhausted she probably is too – and instead goes to his parents’ house straight after his shift at Kaffebrenneriet.

As he sits on the bus, head leaning against the cool glass, staring at the passing buildings and people, he tries to resist poking at the open, gaping wound Isak’s words have left. The vulnerability that seeps in through it is one that takes him a few years back when he’d just come out of his very first episode, looking at his life lying in tatters at his feet.

It’s strange, really. How the rug seems to be pulled from under his feet just as he’s finally getting his bearings. Though he knows in his heart of hearts, that this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Isak being unable to act like an adult and face his issues without taking it out on others, it still stings like a personal failure.

Yet, he wonders. He’s almost tempted to blame Sana, for introducing them to each other, for thinking it was such a great idea, the two of them together. Maybe she’d placed too much hope in her friend. It’s clear now though, that their polar opposite personalities can only cause friction in the long term, and that Isak definitely has some growing up to do.

At least, that’s what his mother ends up saying when she hugs him, as tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

It all starts out well enough. He’s got a half confident swagger and a bright, if a little uncertain smile on his face has he walks up the little path going through the garden to the front door. But seeing his mother holding out her arms at the top of those three little stone steps is all it takes to vaporise all pretence and he finds himself melting in her embrace, backpack forgotten on the wet ground beside them.

They move the hug inside as his father saunters over to join in. They do rescue his already soaked bag from the torrential rain before settling on the big, wine coloured couch. He sniffles a little, and smiles wetly at the combined power of his parents’ concerned gazes.

“I’m okay, really,” he says shakily. “I mean, I will be.”

The tightening of their arms around his shoulders turns out to be exactly what he needs, and he feels his chest loosening a little for the first time in days. They stay like this, lost in each others’ warm presence for a long time, not saying anything, simply soaking in the mutual comfort of their closeness.

They don’t force him to talk, they never do. They’ve always waited patiently, although he does know they worry a lot, for him to come to them. And he does, he always does, eventually.

Today is no different.

It takes a hot chocolate and a cake – bought at the bakery nearby in anticipation of his visit – with a few candles on it. It takes them grinning like lunatics while singing “Happy birthday” at the top of their lungs and very, very off-key. It’s all very embarrassing really, and Even feels his heart soar, loving them even more for it.

“So I hear that there might be a fancy camera involved in this birthday thing...”

He rolls his eyes at his father’s obvious lack of acting skills and subtlety and takes said camera out of its case. He thinks his dad’s reaction is probably a mirror of his own, almost a week ago, as he eyes the device with wonder.

“That is a very fancy looking thing,” pipes his mother with a soft smile.

“Honey, that’s not a thing!” tuts her husband. “This is a beast… A behemoth!”

He finds watching his dad handling the camera has he would a newborn baby to be both hilarious and a little disturbing.

“Okay, show us what it can do then!”

“Doesn’t it just take pictures then?” asks his mother.

There’s no mistaking the irony in her voice. And if his dad hears it, he doesn’t remark on it.

“Not just pictures. But really, really beautiful pictures. Come on, Ev, show us!”

Even obliges and snaps a couple of shots of his parents, not bothering to hold back his laughter at the ridiculous faces they pull. It tugs a little a little at his heart, witnessing their love for each other, so deep and effortless, a second nature to them now. He wonders if that will ever be him, one day. He used to think he had that with Sonja, and for some reason, he can’t quite picture himself like this with Julie.

“Come on guys, I want one of you holding each other!”

He thinks this might be an awkward moment with anyone else, but they comply without hesitation and he captures their image just as his father’s arm loops around his wife’s shoulder and their gaze meet.

Giddy with excitement, they load up the pictures on the TV screen.

It all dies suddenly, and a heavy, dark silence falls on the room as the first picture appears.

Isak.

He’s standing there, against the white wall of their living room, arms crossed in front of him, his face half lit up with a soft golden glow, hair shining gently, eyes staring in the distance, a sombre expression on his face, Cupid bow protruding in a sulky pout.

“Oh.”

The image has him frozen on the spot. He doesn’t even remember taking the picture, the image of a stranger.

He figures he must have been staring at it a while when he feels his mother’s hand on his arm and meets her concerned look.

“What happened between the two of you, love? Did he hurt you?”

He wants to say no, he really does, wants to say he’s fine, because saying it out loud will make it more real, will give texture to the pain he’s been experience, the hopelessness of words churning, squeezing his lungs, just as they had done years ago. But she’s looking at him, they both are, in that understanding yet worried way of theirs, and his resolves crumbles into dust.

“He did,” he whispers softly, not trusting his voice to remain steady. “He really did.”

He tells them everything about the fight. Repeats what Isak said, word for word, knife twisting in his guts and cutting deep all over again, the wound fresh and throbbing anew. It leaves him raw and exhausted, weariness set deep in his bones, not unlike the way he usually feels when emerges from a depressive episode.

“You’ll be okay,” his mother whispers in his hair as she wraps her arms tightly around him, enveloping him in the safe, familiar cocoon of her warmth and love. His father is drawing circles with his hand on his back, and he feels their presence, solid and comforting, anchoring him, pushing back the distress.

“He’s wrong, you know, honey. Whether he meant it or not, Isak is wrong. You are an amazing person and your illness never has, and never will, change that. Any one would be luck to have you in their life. I know we are, and Julie and your friends are.”

He nods mutely, tears prickling, the lump in his throat not quite gone.

She raises his chin with a gentle finger, and he finds himself staring in her steady, clear blue eyes.

“I think you should put some distance between you and Isak. He’s obviously not in a good place right now, but taking it out on you is unfair. Maybe you could stay with us for a few days?”

He hesitates. Although he agrees with her, knowing deep down her words to be true, he hates the idea of leaving his apartment. Hates that he feels he’s just lost a battle he wasn’t supposed to be fighting. He recoils at the mere though of giving up.

And yet. For the first time, he dares say the words out loud, finally voicing the awful conclusion he’s reached after so many hours spent rolling over in his bed, a turmoil of anguish raging in his mind.

“I don’t know if I want to live with him any more.”

The words make him shiver with a silent explosion of what he can only describe as relief. Isak has been stuck in the middle of his mind for so long that he almost expects a wave of acute guilt and shame to hit him has he uttered those words. But it doesn’t. All he feels is nothing but overwhelming relief, and liberation. He realises now, belatedly, that he’s not a bad person. He’s not wrong for wishing to put his well-being first.

“I understand honey,” his mother says, and the sincerity of her words clear as day. “Whatever you choose to do, we’ll help you anyway we can.”

He’s tried as hard as he could. Probably too hard, for both him and Isak. Now he really needs to take a step back, get some perspective. He hopes for the guy’s sake someone else will succeed where he failed, hopes that someone is strong enough to get through to him. For once, he’s learned his lesson, and he’s decided to put himself first.

He doesn’t delete Isak’s picture, can’t bring himself to, because it’s the first ever picture he took with that camera and he hopes that maybe someday, when it doesn’t hurt as much, he can look at it once more and remember the good times they shared. The dinners together, the move nights with Isak asleep next to him, his weird liking of cat videos, the gentle caring he’d showed at first.

  
  


They spend the rest of the day on the couch, gushing about the camera, talking about classes, his internship, his parent’s jobs. Films, books, anything, everything. The pain eventually ebbs away, leaving an ugly red scar and dull ache in its wake. He lets them pamper him and they let him pick a film. And if they end up falling asleep right there, a mess of tangled limbs on the couch before the end credits roll out, it’s no one’s business.

  
  


He wakes to a post-it note stuck on his forehead.

_You were drooling, I took a picture with your camera. You’re welcome. Dad. PS. Your mum and I went to the farmers’ market._

Rolling his eyes, because of course they did, he vows to get revenge.

The screen of his phone informs him that he has three missed calls. One is from Mutta and two others from a number he doesn’t recognise. No messages. Probably a wrong number then. A slight shiver going through his body, he lets himself fall back down with a sigh.

It’s still raining outside, water spattering softly on the windows, garden glistening shyly in the dim morning light. For some strange reason, it quiets his mind a little. Yesterday’s distressing thoughts don’t feel so harsh any more. Rested and safe in the confine of his parents’ house, things look a little less daunting and dramatic than before.

He hears his parents coming back through the front door a few minutes later as he’s checking his camera for pictures. There is indeed one of him looking incredibly uncomfortable, awkwardly sprawled on the couch. And damn it, there’s indeed a visible spot of drool on the cushion right next to him.

“Don’t bother deleting it,” shouts his mum as she sets her grocery bags down. “We already saved a copy on the computer.”

He huffs and stands up, crack his back.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Although he seriously was considering it. He’ll need to find a way to get them both back for this.

“What did you get?”

“Lots of things!” She exclaims excitedly.

“That I had to carry, I should mention.” says his dad with a long suffering sigh.

His wife shrugs and turns to Even.

“I was thinking we could make lunch together?”

It’s been a while since they’ve done that, too long in fact. The last time he remembers actually cooking with her dates back to the previous summer, back when he was staying with them, having just moved out of his and Sonja’s place.

As they eat lunch together, sitting at the pine table, radio playing some old forgotten song in the background, he finds himself basking in the familiarity of sharing a meal with his parents, feels it settle something within his chest.

“So,” he says after a while, “I’ve thought about it and I don’t know if I’m ready to move out completely. I think I’m going to stay with you guys for a bit and discuss it with Dr. Lund. Maybe some time away from the apartment will help me make a decision.”

A brief moment of silence passes, the clutter of cutlery the only sound echoing in the room. His parents look at him thoughtfully.

“For what is worth,” his dad says, “I agree with you.”

His mum nods in assent.

“Also, I’m very proud of you for being so mature about this. And like I said, whatever you choose to do, we’ll support you completely.”

He smiles in return, wide and genuine, buoyed by the hope – albeit small and uncertain – blossoming in his heart.

“And, I can’t say I’m unhappy at the idea of having you cook for us for a few days.” she adds, cheeky dimpled grin and crinkly eyes.

  
  


He calls Julie on his way back to the apartment to pick up some of his things and is only half surprised when he gets straight to voicemail. She either forgot to charge her phone or put it in sleep mode on purpose, which can only mean one thing: she’s passed out on her couch, happily sleeping through the day to make up for long hours of work. He leaves her a short message, keeping to a vague approximation of his current situation. Worrying her is the last thing he wants right now, but more than that, he’s starting to realise that most of their conversations lately have somehow involved Isak one way or another. A change is long overdue.

The familiar, old, rusty bike that stands in a dark corner of the entrance in his apartment building hasn’t moved in a while, he notes as he slowly climbs up the stairs, steps heavy and tired.

He doesn’t expect to see anyone at the apartment, so the silence that greets him is no new. Isak’s trainers and jacket are nowhere to be seen.

The emptiness that welcomes him is both familiar and depressing. He can tell no one has been here since he left on Friday afternoon. The outside light, too timid and fragile to pierce the curtain of rain and reach inside, paints a gloomy picture of shapeless shadows. It’s all fine, he tells himself. He’ll stay here for the night, pack more stuff, and go back to his parents tomorrow, after class.

Standing at the window, looking down on the drowned street, he finds himself missing the sun and clear blue sky intensely. The lack of bright daylight on top of everything else has been dragging his spirits down, trapping him in a long tunnel of darkness with barely the glimmer of a faint, hopeful glow in the distance.

He sighs, suddenly aware of how much he’s looking forward to his appointment with Dr. Lund.

A strong knock on the door abruptly pulls him out of his thoughts. The first idea that crosses his mind is that maybe Isak is back, maybe he forgot his key, maybe they can… He shakes his head, wills those ridiculous thoughts away, clings to his decision to distance himself from the younger man and everything related to him.

It’s not Isak. Mutta is standing there, bright smile, floppy, wet hair, bag clutched in his hands.

“Hey dude!” he exclaims, seemingly unbothered by Even’s momentary stunned silence.

“Hey, Mutta” he eventually replies, moving to the side to let his friend in. “What are you doing here?”

Setting his backpack on the floor before flopping down on the couch with a flourish, the young man just lets out a content sigh.

“Dude, it’s pouring like crazy outside. I really hate this shit weather.”

Slightly dazed, by the sudden appearance of his usually more quiet friend, Even still remembers his manners and offers him tea.

“I’d rather have hot chocolate, if you don’t mind?” says Mutta with a large, childish grin.

“Sure.”

Even chuckles and makes his way to the kitchen.

“So, what’s with the batcave of doom ambience you’ve got going on?”

He can’t help rolling his eyes.

“Ambience? You eat a thesaurus on your way here or what?” he snipes back.

“No, but if you’re offering to cook for me, I won’t mind.”

Even sets two steaming mugs of chocolate on the table before them, turns on the lights.

“I’m not offering.”

Mutta’s exaggerated pout has him laughing. He’s become immune to it long ago.

“You’re in a good mood” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow. “It there something going on?”

“Why, thank you for noticing!” Mutta blinks several times, pretends to preen shyly. “I actually went on a date, yesterday. And it was amazing.”

“Oh. That’s great, man! I’m happy for you.”

And he is, he really is. There’s a sparkle in his eyes, a lightness in his posture he hasn’t seen in a while. He goes for a tight hug and Mutta briefly melts into it, lets out a small laugh.

“You’re such a sap, dude.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

They both let go, matching grins on their faces.

“Seriously, I’m really happy for you.”

Mutta’s smile gets impossibly wider.

“I am too, I really am.”

He proceeds to tell him about this girl he met online but was to afraid to meet in real life. It’s obvious now how much it has been eating at him, the worry, the insecurity, and he feels awful for not taking it seriously earlier. Mutta waves off his apology.

“It’s all good man, don’t worry. Isak helped, actually.”

Mutta’s words should not feel like a physical blow right there into his sternum, but they do.

“Isak? My flatmate Isak?”he croaks.

“Duh. I talked to him at the party. He really helped.”

He pauses, almost hesitant.

“I don’t really know what happened between you guys, but I hope you’re alright now, he’s a cool dude.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t tell him that he and Isak don’t speak to each other any more, doesn’t tell him he hasn’t seen the guy in a few days, doesn’t say how much he hated him for a few hours after their fight on Thursday.

“I came to see him actually. He said we could hang out and play some games, but I don’t have his number. Is he around?”

He doesn’t say he has no idea where Isak is, tells himself he doesn’t care either.

“Sorry, he’s out. He’s probably hanging out with his friends.”

It’s probably not really a lie, he reasons although odds are he’s not hanging out with Jonas or Magnus. Whatever Isak does now isn’t any of his business.

“Ah, that’s too bad, man. I was really looking forward to that.”

Letting his curiosity get the best of him possibly makes him a hypocrite, but he has to know, wants to find out more, and understand.

“That must have been some discussion you guys had.”

Mutta stretches lazily, sips his hot chocolate. His eyes set on Even for a tad too long.

“Not really. I just kind of needed to vent on someone. And he looked upset. So...”

Even nods mutely, struggling to bite down the words that threaten to spill from his mouth, ready to pour his anger and disappointment. But even now, despite everything, he can’t bring himself to badmouth his flatmate to the only person singing his praise. He figures Mutta will just have to end up like the rest of them sooner or later: disappointed when Isak inevitably shows his true colours.

Lucky for him, Mutta is easily distracted and it doesn’t take a lot of effort to stir the conversation away from the topic of his flatmate. He does stay for the better part of an hour, munching his way through half of his leftover cookies, almost jumping with excitement as he talks about his girlfriend and recounts their online adventures in great detail.

He’s almost forgotten about their previous conversation when Mutta turns to him on his way out.

“Would you mind telling Isak to call me when you see him?”

Too blind-sided by the unexpected query, he just nods dumbly and promises to do just so – which he regrets immediately. This time, he knows he’s just lied to his friend.

Mutta’s visit leaves him boneless and mentally exhausted although he makes an effort to not let it get to him. So he takes out his books and notes and studies until night falls and the words get blurry in the soft glow of the lamp next to him. He’s never been the best of students throughout his high school career, finding very little interest in most of the subjects he’d been taught, with a couple of exceptions from time to time. Now that he has finally found something he enjoys and has an end goal in mind, he’s been gradually getting more and more interested in his classes – it’s also a great distraction from, well, everything. When he realises he’s just read the same paragraph for the fourth time, he finally puts his books away and settles with a plate of radishes and salad in front of a movie.

A couple hours later, he’s dozing while the end credits roll up when he feels his phone vibrating from somewhere under him.

He picks up immediately, doesn’t bother checking for caller ID. There’s only one person who would call so late on a Sunday evening.

“Hey Jules!”

The voice the greets him quietly is definitely not Julie’s, and has him sit much straighter, tension suddenly coursing through him.

“Hi, Even.”

“Linn! Hi!”

“Isak isn’t answering his phone. Is he around?”

Slightly stunned by her bluntness, he realises belatedly that she must have been one of the people who tried calling him earlier.

“Sorry, he’s not here.”

“Oh.”

There’s a brief pause, the sound of quiet rustling.

“Could you tell him I called? We’re...”

She hesitates.

“We haven’t heard from him and...”

She trails off, the implications, leaves the implied conclusion unsaid. He gulps, wondering how to phrase his thoughts.

“I’m not sure I can help you, Linn. Isak and I… We’re not exactly on speaking terms right now.”

The silence that answers him frays his nerves a lot more than he’d like to admit. He can hear Linn’s quiet breathing on the line, can almost picture her frown.

“Did something happen?”

Telling Linn what happened between him and his flatmate is a much more terrifying task than telling his parents. They don’t know each other that well, for one, and her being Isak’s sort of adopted sister makes it all the more awkward. He doesn’t want to anger or disappoint her by explaining how nasty his flatmate was and he’s also not keen on shouldering the responsibility of Isak’s inability to behave like a decent human being. He genuinely likes Linn, enjoys her dry wit and quiet presence. He tries not to think too much about whose image he’s really to willing to protect.

“I think it’s best if Isak and I don’t see each other for a while. I’m going to stay at my parents’ for a few days, so...” is what he eventually settles on.

He has to check the screen of his phone a couple times after that, wondering if Linn has hung up on him. She’s still on the line. Silence stretches between them for a long time, settling down in his stomach like heavy rocks.

A whispered “okay” is the last word he hears before the line goes dead. He almost misses it, but it crashes into him with the violence of a thousand betrayed cries.

With infinite precaution, he sets his phone delicately on the table, ignores the slight tremor in his hand.

He stays unmoving for a while, focuses on his own breathing, takes long exhales. A long time passes before he finally feels the knot in his chest loosen a little, enough at least to let him move again. He puts another movie on, prays that it’ll be enough of a distraction. It’s not. It’s one of those shit movies with lots of explosion Isak would probably enjoy, just to annoy him. He hates that this is where his thoughts go.

It’s past two in the morning when he blearily opens his eyes to the blueish light of the screen and drags himself to bed and falls in an uneasy slumber.

  
  


  
  


Waking up is a more difficult affair than usual. The exhaustion, heavy in his bones, has grown even more present in the past few days and he can’t seem to shake it off. Opening his eyes to the downpour outside, he has half a mind to close them again and pretend today is not a thing that is going to happen.

There’s a buzzing, right under his skin. A low, indistinct feeling of something hidden. A wrongness gnawing at him. He thinks he might have had a nightmare and is only remembering the worrying, shapeless shadow it imprinted on his mind.

Drawing a long and shaky breath, he pushes himself out of bed and make his unsteady way to the kitchen. The cereals tastes like cardboard in his cottony mouth as he stares at the drops of water pattering on the windows, tracing rivulets, blurring the outside world still plunged in a thick, shrouding darkness.

Tired, half-hidden grey faces greet him on the bus to uni. The roads, buildings and people glistening dully, barely visible under the weak and dull electric lights of street lamps. He figures he must look a sight, too. Longish hair sticking to his forehead, dark circles under his eyes, pale skin pulled taut over his weary bones.

He listens to Julie’s quiet voice mail as he treads the wet pavement, splashing his shoes and jeans. It warms him a little, though not much. He worries about her, knows how hard she’s pushing herself on this case. He also knows that if there is someone in this world who can help this poor kid, it’s her. He wishes he too could do some good in the world, like she does, hopes that he might, eventually.

He clings to this warmth as he sits through his first classes of the day in the cold lecture hall, trying to focus on the professors’ voices. He forces himself to take exhaustive, detailed notes, writes down questions, lines of reflection for later. Anything to keep his thoughts from erring too far away.

He shoots a quick text to Mikael, asks if he’s heard Mutta’s latest news.

The only reply he gets is an emoji that appears to be rolling its eyes and a “what do you think” without a question mark that has him smiling for a few minutes.

He thinks he might make it through this day unscathed yet when his eye catches an ad pinned on one of the boards near the cafeteria as he goes to buy a sandwich. It’s innocuous enough, just a few lines on a blank piece of paper, but the smudged words stop him dead in his tracks.

Almost the exact same words he wrote last summer.

That odd, heavy feeling from earlier this morning comes back, nestles uncomfortably in his chest. He composes a text, almost shakily. A single question.

Munching thoughtfully as he waits for a reply, he tries to contain the growing feeling of unease threatening to overwhelm him, and hopes for an answer that finally settles it.

It doesn’t.

Eskild’s message is short and to the point. No warmth, no smiley face. If he were to guess, he would say he probably talked to Linn and doesn’t want to speak to him. The thought that Eskild might be angry at him is as unfair as it is hurtful, probably much more than it should be.

The feeling gets worse and he knows then that he won’t be able to focus on his next classes, and hates himself a little for letting it all get to him so easily when he’s sworn, not two days ago, to be done with this whole mess.

So he goes home. It’s probably he last thing he should be doing right now and it feels like he’s letting his emotions overwhelm him when he should be taking a step back and focusing on uni, but everything is getting too much.

Julie’s at work, and the guys are in class or at work too. The best thing for him to do, probably, is to pack for his stay at his parents’ and maybe drop by later in the day. He might even cook for them, watch a movie or something. Tomorrow, he’ll talk to Dr. Lund and she’ll help him see things clearer, listen to him, ease his worry a little.

He doesn’t think he’s able to put all this Isak mess behind him on his own, his resolve already on verge of crumbling a couple of days after making that decision to distance himself from his flatmate.

Focused on his plans for the evening, he doesn’t pay any mind to the lady looking a little lost, right by the entrance to his building. He holds out the door for her as she makes to follow him inside, smiles absently, and slowly climbs the stairs.

It’s not until he reaches the door to the apartment that he realises that the woman is standing right behind him, looking at the exact door he’s currently unlocking. He’s about to ask her if she needs anything when his eyes stop on her face and the words catch in his throat.

He would be hard pressed to say exactly how she looks like him, but she does. It’s something in her eyes, he thinks, something in the way she gazes at him. Or maybe that fine balance of strength and frailty emanating from her slight frame. She’s a lot small than her son, and just as thin. Her slightly unkempt hair is a rich, dark auburn with a few strands of grey, long and loose on her shoulders. There’s something akin to a distant sadness etched deep on the graceful curves of her cheeks, on her worried forehead, around her cloud-coloured eyes.

He thinks he might recognize some of the soft kindness he’s only witnessed Isak display a few times in her.

“Excuse-me,” she starts in a quiet, almost shy voice, “are you Even?”

“Yeah. I am. You’re Isak’s mum, right?”

“Yes. Do you know where he is? I...”

She hesitates, looking much smaller than she really is.

“I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. I know he sometimes gets lost in his studying, but… And all my calls get sent straight to voicemail. I’m...”

Her voice cracks a little, her eyes leave his, turn to the now open door.

“I’m worried about him.”

Her words wake up a familiar anger in him. He’s never had to worry about a child, but he’s seen his parents do it for most of his life. The guilt stemming from being a constant source of potential anguish is something he struggles with to this day. So seeing what Isak is putting his poor mother through makes his blood boil and strengthens once more his resolve to distance himself from his flatmate.

“I’m sorry”, he says eventually. “I haven’t seen Isak in a few days.”

He feels awful as soon as the words leave his mouth, knows he’s probably adding to the woman’s distress. Her shoulders sag, as if physically burdened by anxiety, and he wants nothing more than to gather her in his arms and tell her everything is going to be alright. And yet, he doesn’t want to lie to her.

“I can try to call some of his friends, maybe? I’m sure they know where he is, and I’ll ask them to have him call you?” he offers.

“That’s very kind of you,” she says gratefully. “I know he’s an adult and he doesn’t like me imposing, but… I miss him.”

She lets out a small self-deprecating laugh, her eyes dimly shining in the low light of the hallway.

“That probably sounds silly to you.”

He hears the unsaid apology in her voice and he hates it. Hates Isak for being a selfish and uncaring brat. _I’m sure you’re an amazing son, Isak. _Yeah, right. He shakes his head.

“It’s not silly. I’m an adult, and I always miss my parents.”

Smiling gently, she looks like she on the verge of putting a hand on his cheek.

“Your parents are very lucky to have such a loving son. And my son is lucky to have you as a friend.”

He has to refrain from snorting loudly. Isak most certainly doesn’t have him. She pulls herself a little straighter, looks a fraction more confident.

“Thank you so much, Even.”

She grabs pulls his hand in hers and sends one last smile his way before letting go and turning back, disappearing down the stairs.

He stands dumbly still for a moment, staring off at the empty space she previously occupied, trying to get a grip on the conflicting emotions crashing into him, throwing off the precarious balance he thought he had found.

As he lies in his bed a few minutes later, staring up at the blank ceiling, sorting out his thoughts and feelings turns out to be as arduous a task as it has ever been.

He still can’t seem to be able to label that odd sensation that’s been growing in his chest all day, infecting his every thought. He’s a planet being pulled by the overwhelming gravity force of a black hole, unable to escape the grasp threatening to swallow him whole.

At the very centre of it all, one Isak Valtersen. Two weeks ago, he would have been ecstatic at the idea of getting closer to the younger man. He’d actually been happy at the idea of the two of them finally becoming friends after months of carefully toeing around each other. He had come to appreciate the younger man’s quiet, unassuming company, his dry humour and even his infrequent jabs at Even’s “film snobbishness”. This had been paired with an almost devouring curiosity about his well-guarded secrets, which, in hindsight, is probably where he went wrong. He knows he pushed too hard, he’s not too proud to own up to his own mistakes.

But now that the veil has been torn, he’s left with the memory of Isak’s venom-filled stare and cruel words. And although he’s not entirely convinced he actually meant them now that he has had time to think, he’s come to understand that it’s the intent behind the words, the will to purposefully hurt him that is causing his wound to gape and bleed still.

He thinks he might be able to forgive him eventually. That he’ll get to a point where he can look back at what happened between them and not feel the anger and hurt so acutely. But he fears whatever tentative friendship they had managed to reach might irremediably damaged. Maybe they both screwed up too much to be anything but distant acquaintances now. And anyway, Isak clearly doesn’t care, at all.

So sticking to his original plan might be the best idea.

Groaning, he puts his head in his hands, hating the indecision and the mess of contradictory thoughts and emotions.

But he did say to Isak’s mother he would contact the young man’s friends. With another long sigh, swearing to himself that it’s the last thing he’s going to do for his flatmate, he sends a quick text to Jonas, asking him to tell his best friend to contact his worried mother.

The reply is almost immediate, and knocks the figurative wind out of his lungs.

_Haven’t seen or heard from Isak since your party. He isn’t with you?_

He’s up on his feet and standing before Isak’s door before he’s made the conscious decision to act. Something is eating at him. That indescribable feeling that has been growing for a couple of days now threatening to take over completely. He knocks a couple of times, calls out his flatmate’s name to no avail.

Bracing himself, he opens the door, slow and deliberate.

Of all the things he expects to find, an empty room with a packed suitcase, bed stripped bare and a cleared out desk is definitely not one of them.

And lying there on the bed, is a very familiar pair of green gloves.

What the fuck.

He says it out loud, repeats it for good measure. Almost pinches himself, doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

What the fuck, he says again. It doesn’t make it any less real.

He approaches the suitcase carefully, weighs it to make sure it’s full. It is. He goes to the desk, opens a couple of drawers. Nothing. If he were to guess, he’d say this is how the room must have looked like before Isak moved in. The only traces of his presence is the wall of Even’s drawing that he hasn’t taken down yet. He ignores the weird lurch in his chest as his eyes scan the sketches, some of them frankly ridiculous and ugly. Instead, he picks up two crumpled balls of paper, heart beating wildly at the idea of invading his roommate’s privacy.

The first one is a letter. Barely that, really. Only a handful of words, scrawled in haste, that don’t do anything other than show that Isak potentially tried to reach out, at least. He assumes the second paper is another draft but it isn’t.

Unfolding it, he feels something shift inside him as his eyes catch the hesitant lines and words laying on the rumpled bit of paper. It’s clear Isak has put effort into it, a lot more than his usual stick figure drawings. It’s a drawing of Isak himself, in two different universes. But it’s the words that make him go cold. Inn another universe, three simple words, the apology he didn’t think he would ever get.

And in this universe, two words.

In this universe, Isak is sitting alone, somewhere. Begging for help.

Before fully comprehending what he’s doing, he takes his phone out and taps the contact he’s been trying to avoid.

Isak’s recorded voice is nothing like the last memory he has of it. It’s awkward, unsteady. The recorded message is exactly the kind of awkwardness he’s come to expect. There’s a small chuckle at the end, sounding a bit forced, and he can picture the young man rolling his eyes at himself.

A beep sound, then silence. Nothing.

It takes him a few minutes to react. He stares the drawing before him, lets all thoughts swirl around his mind, emotions battling each other until only one remains. It’s the same one that has been slowly creeping in, the one he could put into words. He knows what it is now, taps his phone again with trembling fingers and calls Eskild.

Fear.

“What do you want, Even?” is the dry greeting he gets, a stark contrast to Eskild’s usual jovial enthusiasm.

“We need to find Isak.” he says, not sure how to express the unease that infects his very being.

There must be something in his voice, a shiver or a crack that gives Eskild pause.

“What happened?”

The uncertainty is all encompassing. He doesn’t know what to say, what do to, how to feel. But he has to find Isak. He tries to tell Eskild, gets lost in unimportant details, confuses days, feel the bitter sting of betrayal again, the sharp cut of anxiety. He gets there in the end. Or at least, Eskild gets it, he thinks, but it doesn’t help. He and Linn have already called Isak’s friends and everyone assumed he’s simply staying with his mother.

“I’m going to call Jonas again and ask if he knows where Isak could be. Maybe with some friends from uni.”

Though he know Eskild can’t see him, Even nods mutely, unable to speak out loud. He needs to calm down, but he can’t.

“Can you ask him where Isak usually hangs out?”

Eskild assures him that he will and promises to call back in twenty minutes. Even only briefly hesitates before dialling another number.

“Lucky for you I just got out of class.”

“Hey, Sana. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s fine. What do you want, Even?”

Any other day, he would have laughed at her bluntness, something he’d always admired.

“We can’t find Isak.”

It’s probably more dramatic than it needs to be, yet he guesses it’s marginally better than simply declaring Isak missing. Before she can break the silent that ensues, he elaborates by telling her he’s already called everyone he’s thought of and even spoke to Isak’s mother.

“He’s packed all his stuff in a suitcase. And he left a note, and I just...”

Her sharp intake of breath tells him the seriousness of the situation has just dawned on her. While he doesn’t know the extent of her fallout with Isak, it’s not difficult to see how much she resents him. But underneath that resentment, she cares. He might not know her as well as he would like, but that much he’s sure of.

“What kind of note?” she finally asks.

“Just...”

He hesitates, fully aware that now might not be the best time to go over the last few days, again.

“Just a note saying he’s sorry...” He pauses. “No one’s heard from him in days. And the last time I saw him was last Thursday. I’m worried, Sana.” he admits.

She doesn’t say it, but he can hear it in her voice as they try to come up with places where Isak might have taken refuge: she’s worried too. Even more so when they come up blank.

He’s already put a coat on and is looking for his keys when Eskild calls back. Isak doesn’t really have friends at uni but he’s managed to track down a girl who sometimes sits next to him in class. She’s hasn’t been much help, said she barely knows him. The only piece of information she was able to provide is a terrifying one: Isak hasn’t attended any lecture in weeks, and no one has seen him.

Eskild tries to put on a good front but his voice is shaking badly. His boyfriend’s and Linn’s presence at his side a very minute comfort that does very little to alleviate the obvious fear in his voice.

As he puts his shoes on, Even briefly recounts his call to Sana and the only sliver of hope he got from it: the possibility of finding Isak working at the supermarket he’s been employed since last summer.

They try to joke about how stupid they will both look when they find him there, grumpy and annoyed at being once again the centre of their combine attention. They try to laugh at the mere idea but it falls flat. They won’t say it, but they both know that the chances of Isak actually being there are infinitesimally slim at best.

  
  


The rain, clawing at his face like a thousand of tiny, frozen needles, doesn’t seem to be want to stop anytime soon. He’s glad for his warm clothes but it doesn’t help to assuage the gnawing worry that has now embedded itself in him. He doesn’t want to think of Isak spending his days outside in his weather, but cannot stop his mind from back to that image of him erring in the cold in nothing but ratty clothes.

He’s never been at the supermarket where his flatmate works. He’s been tempted to visit him there a couple of times but never found a good reason to and was never sure the young man would appreciate him going out of his way just to satisfy some sort of misplaced curiosity.

All he knows about it, is that Isak isn’t happy with his job that seems to make him more stressed than anything else. He remembers his parents mentioning how miserable looking he had been when they’d inadvertently seen him there.

Even now, when their relationship has hit rock bottom, it’s a line he’s hesitant to cross.

The store itself is nestled in a somewhat busy street, between a pharmacy and an nondescript insurance office. The pavement is in a particularly bad state here, and the gutters look to be on the verge of overflowing.

He has to jump over a large puddle of muddy brown water to make it to the entrance of the supermarket.

The artificial dull light has him blink a couple of times, made almost blinding in contrast with the darkening skies outside. It’s a rather small place, four tills, a self checkout and a central desk standing in front of a row of a narrow aisles.

Isak is nowhere in sight.

He tries to ignore the disappointment, clinging to the foolish hope that he might be in the back, somewhere. His resolve temporarily strengthened, he walks up to one of the tills. A young woman with light, almost silver hair and heavy make-up not quite completely masking the circles under her eyes sizes him up as he approaches.

“Excuse-me, do you know where I could find Isak?”

Her eyes go up from his chest to his face.

“Who?”

“Hum… Isak Valtersen? He works here as a cashier I think? Curly blonde hair, green eyes, tall and skinny?”

She looks at him with already fading interest and shrugs dismissively.

“Never seen him. I just started last week.”

He frowns. For a brief moment, he wonders if he’s got the wrong place when a voice interrupts his train of thoughts.

“He doesn’t work here any more.”

It’s an older man, small piggly eyes, a balding head and a waxen, slightly sweaty complexion, barely covered by an uneven scruff.

“I’m sorry?”

“Valtersen. He was a shit employee. So I had to fire him. Last Thursday was his last day.”

There’s a sort of nasty glee in the tone of this man who is no doubt the manager. He looks like the sort who enjoys wielding the tiniest fraction of power they have, basking in their impression of self-importance, hurling constant passive-aggressive abuse at their employees while dangling the threat of unemployment in front of them.

The revulsion is nothing compared to the way his hearts folds in on himself. Or at least, it’s the impression he gets from the sudden tug in his chest. He barely looks at the man as he mutters a thank you, he’s already turned away, dismissing his entire existence. He feels, more than he sees, the look of the girl on him. There’s a slight crack in her affected indifference now, but he doesn’t stop to analyse it, the urge to get out too strong now.

His first instinct is to call Eskild, and tell him. Explain to him that Isak’s problems might be worse than they previously thought, that they’ve been blind and too easily distracted by the young man’s efforts to keep them in the dark. Yet, he can’t bring himself to dial the number. He’s not sure it’s because he doesn’t want to increase Eskild’s and Linn’s worry or if it feels like betraying a secret he just stumbled upon.

  
  


He can scarcely believe how blind he has been.

At the very least, he has an explanation for some of Isak’s actions and attitude now. It’s certainly not a justification, it certainly doesn’t excuse any of the words he threw at him, but he thinks he might understand better now. What he doesn’t understand though, is why Isak hasn’t said anything.

He forces all questions out. All that matters is finding him. The worry has now blossomed into a full-fledged terror as pieces of the Isak puzzle finally start coming together to paint a bleak picture.

Problem is, he has no idea what to do or where to look. Oslo is a big city, and the young man could be anywhere.

So he starts walking.

Thinking about the very limited options he has left, his first stop is the university library. He supposes it’s the kind of refuge Isak would find if he thought he had nowhere to go. Feeling his throat close up at the idea of the young man even entertaining the idea, he pushes the guilt to the back of his mind and steels his determination. He’ll have plenty of time to dwell on everything else one’s he found him.

After that, he tries other libraries. The swimming pool yields no more results and he almost runs to get out of it when the memory of their time there together threaten to submerge him. He then walks aimlessly around the city centre, looks inside cafés and restaurants, enters a few shops, eventually winds up on the sea front.

He stops there for a while, letting night fall around him, watches as the stormy waves turn into a growling foamy darkness, hurtling bitterly at the concrete.

Despite the warm layers he’s wearing, the damp cold is slowly starting to seep in, numbing his fingers and the tip of his ears. He hopes against all hopes that Isak isn’t out there in this weather.

He stares blindly at the pitch black horizon a few more minutes before checking out his phone. He’s got half a dozen missed calls, most of them from Eskild and Jonas, and a couple of texts messages, the last one received not ten minutes ago.

A laconic _still looking for him_ that almost make him cry in despair.

He’s exhausted, both mentally and physically as he finally starts making his way back to the apartment, opting to walk, and let the full force of the shame at the idea of giving up his search wash over him, colder than the angry downpour.

Telling himself over and over again that it’s not giving up, he ignores two calls from his parents. They’re probably wondering where he is now, waiting for him to show up like he said he would, worried that he hasn’t.

He’s lost track of time, but he thinks he might have been walking home for more than an hour now. The rain has drowned the streets and turned them into vague copies of each other. It’s a wall of water, tinted with faint orange lights curtaining his surroundings. His feet make despondent splashes and he has to wipe at his eyes every few second to get a look at where he’s going and not stumble clumsily on the road. He’s only crossed paths with a few rare souls, drenched and hurrying home under useless umbrellas and glistening rain coats.

It’s a little after 21h now, and what he really wants is to get home as soon as possible, take a warm shower and shut his brain down. He can almost feel himself relaxing of at the idea of slipping under the warm duvet of his bed and he knows things will be better then. Except he also know they won’t, not really. Try as he might, he can’t get the idea that Isak is there, somewhere outside, out of his mind. He supposes he could call his parents once he gets home, enlist their help to look for his missing flatmate.

Missing.

He wonders if this is how they felt every time he’s disappeared in the middle of a manic episode. Wonders if they’ve experienced the visceral fear of knowing that something was wrong with him. They probably have and he hates himself for having put them through that. There’s some kind of poetic retribution, he guesses, now that he’s experiencing it for himself.

He shakes his head, chases the dark thoughts away, uselessly pushes strands of hair out of his eyes.

There’s a cat, sitting in the middle of the street, looking at him, meowing pathetically. He looks around, tries to get his bearings. He has no clear idea where he is, doesn’t recognise the street, and the very poor visibility certainly does not help. Still, he has a feeling he might not be too far from the apartment. There’s a vague familiarity about the buildings he can’t seem to shake.

The cat stares at him, unmoving, before sauntering closer and coiling itself around his legs. It looks miserable, its body almost scarily thin. It meows again, voice low and scratchy, before disappearing in a poorly lit street on his right.

He’s about to start walking again when he hears another meow, then another.

Why he does what he does next, he’s not entirely sure, wouldn’t be able to explain his decision. Even loves animals. He’s always dogs to cats as a whole, feels more in tune with their unwavering love and faithfulness. But the heart wrenching sounds this creature makes tugs dangerously at his heart strings, so he goes to follow it. It’s probably hurt, or something.

He makes his way gingerly, trying not to slip or trip and get himself more soaked than he already is. It takes his eyes a couple of minutes to get used to the almost complete darkness around him. The cat is still trying to get his attention.

It’s stopped moving now, standing a few meters away on the pavement. He can barely see its small shape, almost completely faded in the shadows around them.

His eyes fall to a shape next to it, and he feels the world slipping off its axis.

He knows. He doesn’t know how, exactly, but he does. He’s sitting right there on the ground, back against the wall, hands around his knees, almost curled up in himself.

As he takes a couple of steps forward, getting close enough to make sure he isn’t hallucinating, he almost hears the sudden splintering in his chest, tiny cracks opening wide, digging a large, bottomless canyon of pain.

“Isak?”

The young man doesn’t answer, but it’s him, it’s definitely him. Crouching next to him, slowly, as one would approach a scared wild animal, he calls his name again, gets no reaction. Gulping painfully, he puts a careful hand on his arm.

The young man seems to try and curl into an even smaller ball, and Even realises he’s shaking badly. It takes him less than a second to realise it’s not from the cold.

He’s crying. Not just a regular, quiet cry. His whole body is racked with violent, silent sobs.

How his heart can break further, he has no idea, but it does, as he takes in the fragile, broken shape of his younger flatmate. Right there and then, all thoughts of resentment and anger leave him, and he wraps his arms tightly against the trembling, freezing body. Far from comforting him, it seems to spur a renewed distress as his body shakes more violently and he starts whimpering pathetically.

Even doesn’t let go, tighten his embrace even more, wet hair brushing against his cheek. Eventually, cold, hesitant, desperate hands grip him as Isak sobs harder.

There is no sound around them but the gentle hiss of the rain around them and the quiet crying of the younger man.

He holds him, and holds him, and holds him.

He thinks he hears a muffled, wretched whisper, faint echoes of “I’m sorry” repeated like a mantra.

His eyes prickle with tears of their own and he has to make a conscious effort to hold himself whole and not come apart with the cold, trembling form in his arms.

Decisively, he holds Isak’s face in delicate hands, feels the cold, soft skin against his fingers and gently pushes his forehead against his. He can’t see his eyes in the dark but pictures them clearly in his mind, bright green, swimming in a pool of tears.

So he looks, unseeing, and holds him with infinite tenderness, with all his heart, and says:

“I’m here Isak, I’m here.”

And then he says:

“You’re not alone.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, put down the pitchforks, flame throwers, rocket launchers and let's talk about this like reasonnable people.
> 
> Yes, the fic is complete (phew, didn't think the day would come), I'm not trolling you.
> 
> Although it's not the ending I had originally planned, I've had it in mind for almost 6 months now and I'm satisfied with it. If I recall, those last three chapters were numbered 13, 14 and 15 in my first outline: they were really more of a three-part chapter called "the fight". As the writing of this fic progressed, I added more and more chapters and realised I had to lead up to this fight which was the climax of this part of the story. There are a few reasons why I eventually chose to end this fic this way and I won't go through all of them here, but let's just say that I think it's perhaps the most important step in Isak's journey: finally learning to accept help - and more importantly - Even's help and as such, a fitting end to this fic (I did say it wasn't a fic about falling in love and getting together). Another reason is that I came up with this new ending at a time when I didn't think I would be able to finish a longer story, so I wanted to give it some kind of closure instead of letting it go on forever.
> 
> Now I'm sure there are many questions and loose threads left, and that's okay. A story isn't about answering every question: I like that people can imagine their own version of what comes next. 
> 
> On the other hand, I also said that I had about 30+ chapters in mind and that hasn't changed; it means that I do have a 2nd part all planned out in my mind. Whether I ever write it or not, I guess we'll see. (but if we're being honest, I have about 2000 words of a first chapter written down somewhere).
> 
> Three more things I want to say:
> 
> \- Sorry about not posting for such a long time. Truth is, I completed chapter 18 and a portion of chapter 19 back in April, and the very last page of chapter 20 even before that. Unfortunately, my hard drive died and I lot everything (including a chapter for A Long Way Home) and it took a while before I was in a mood to write again.
> 
> \- I'm not sure what I want to work on next: I'm tempted to write part 2 of this story, I also have another Evak fic in mind, I still want to finish A Long Way Home at some point (although probably not in the near future) and I also really want to work on my original stuff.
> 
> \- Finally, and most important: thank you to everyone who has supported me in any way, enjoyed, read, commented, left kudos and stuck with me after all this time. It means a lot more than I can put into words, but I hope you know how important you are. Thank you all so, so much!


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